


When We Say Adieu

by Tsushi



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Divorce, F/M, Heavy Drinking, M/M, Multi, everyone is pining, so much pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26442559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsushi/pseuds/Tsushi
Summary: The gang meets back up to celebrate Fujiko and Lupin’s one year anniversary of getting married, but everyone has mixed feelings about the occasion...Set after Part 4, before Part 5, based on the end credits visuals for Part 5. The same night from 5 different perspectives.
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III/Mine Fujiko, Arsène Lupin III/Zenigata Kouichi, Ishikawa Goemon XIII/Jigen Daisuke/Arsène Lupin III/Mine Fujiko, Ishikawa Goemon XIII/Mine Fujiko, Jigen Daisuke/Arsène Lupin III, Jigen Daisuke/Zenigata Kouichi
Comments: 26
Kudos: 40





	1. Zenigata

Zenigata wasn’t sure why he decided to come. Not sure why he paid for this flight with his own money, why he took this trip as three vacation days. He could easily have said this was for business. After all, he was going to see Lupin. He could have brought his cuffs and a small army, and taken this flight for free.

But it had been a year since the last calling card. It was a wedding invitation, which boldly stated Lupin's intent to “steal the heart of Fujiko Mine.” Which wasn’t exactly a heist under Zenigata's jurisdiction. At the wedding, when Zenigata had briefly gotten him into handcuffs, Lupin claimed to be retiring. So they struck a deal. 

If Lupin was really through, then Zenigata would let him be. And granted, the Inspector had had doubts as to Lupin's sincerity. But a year was a long time. And since then, things had been quiet. It wasn't Lupin's longest hiatus, but admittedly, all of them were starting to get a bit older. 

He was starting to suspect that this time, Lupin really meant it.

Fujiko was always what he’d been aiming for, it all made plenty of sense. The thief had more wealth and infamy than any one man needed, and Zenigata had seen with his own eyes the things Lupin would do for Fujiko. If she told him to do it, he would. So maybe this time, instead of asking for a jewel heist, she asked Lupin to settle down. It made enough sense.  
  


Even if Zenigata had trouble admitting it to himself, this was what he had always hoped for. Lupin to straighten out and live a normal life. Sure, he would have preferred for Lupin to get a normal job and return all his ill-gotten gains, to make a full apology. Instead, the ex-criminal was living a quiet life of leisure, in some swanky apartment in downtown Milan, on stolen funds. But in his heart Zenigata knew most of the people Lupin robbed were cold, evil bastards who didn’t need the money either.  
  


Or maybe, what he had hoped for was the two of them to go out in a final match of wits, leaving him standing victorious, returning to the ICPO with a defeated, cuffed Lupin. Breaking that ego over his knee. The inspector's sheer force of will winning out over his arch-nemesis, leaving the now-contrite Lupin to confess to each one of his many crimes. Watching Lupin stare out into a sea of photo bulbs and news cameras, witnessing to the public at large that the only man who could best him, who had bested him, was Inspector Zenigata.  
  


He had to shake off that train of thought. It was making him both surprisingly sad, and a little too excited. Before he had even decided to come, Zenigata had done a lot of his usual legwork. He checked the area out via satellite before he got on the plane, and the area looked really nice. If the real estate websites were right, he spent more than Zenigata’s yearly salary on a few months of rent. He did his research, he never came unprepared when it came to information. 

Emotionally? That was a different story.

Thankfully, the captain’s voice announced over the intercom that they were beginning their descent into Italy, and that distracted him from further introspection.

He folded a still-pristine book of crossword puzzles, and waded through the drudgery of disembarking, heading into customs for what had to be his thousandth time. Waiting at the baggage carousel, he spotted a very familiar and ostentatious figure. 

Goemon stood rigid in his usual traditional attire, probably waiting to be reunited with his beloved sword. Children pointed and adults tugged them along. Zenigata's Italian was a bit rusty, but he could guess what they might be saying.  
  


Goemon's gaze locked back onto Zenigata's, without a trace of surprise. Goemon had already spotted him. Zenigata felt a bit embarrassed that he hadn’t been vigilant enough to notice Goemon and get the jump on him. Not that he was looking to make a scene while he was off duty, but he liked to think of himself as ready for anything. Maybe the year off had dulled his Lupin senses more than he thought.  
  


Zenigata took the initiative and walked over to greet him. Even without Zantetsuken, the samurai had an air of danger to most people, but Zenigata had long ago learned a few of the subtleties of his emotional range. Right now, Goemon was feeling awkward and shy, not angry or defensive. He never did particularly well in large crowds, unless of course it was a large crowd of armed men trying to kill him.  
  


“Goemon. How was your flight?” 

On the rare occasion they did have something to say to each other, he and Goemon always spoke in Japanese.  
  


“Inspector. It was adequate.”  
  


Warm but lumbering, Zenigata's laugh was exaggerated, like a truck on a bumpy road, trying to break tension in spite of it all. “Geheheh! But the food sure wasn’t. I’m starving!”  
  


“Hm.”  
  


Not much of a conversationalist, this guy. It helped to have Lupin around to keep things lively. He gritted his teeth a bit. Just push through.  
  


“I think there’s a good ramen restaurant. If you’re hungry, too.”  
  


Goemon’s expressions rarely showed more than a minor shift, but his eyes had a glint of excitement at the mention of ramen. It was cuter than Zenigata had ever pictured Goemon being capable of. He'd rarely gotten close to the man before, and even when he managed to, the expression he most often saw was the hardened, determined stare of a man about to slice his cruiser in half. Granted, the Samurai did always have a hint of roguish glee in his eyes when he sliced things apart, but this was different. It felt...somewhat delighted.  
  


“I would not mind. After all, our appointment is not for a few more hours.”  
  


Goemon did not elaborate, or comment on their upcoming meeting. There was a long silence, and as it stretched out before them, Zenigata felt more and more desperate to fill it. But he was at a loss. Everything that came to mind had a snowball's chance in hell at getting more than three words out of the samurai. And all he wanted to talk about was Lupin.

He let the quiet hang, and checked his phone a few times. Poked at a few junk emails. Deleted them. Double-checked the address of the ramen place. Triple-checked to make sure it was still open. It didn't accomplish much, but it at least killed time.  
  


Once Goemon was reunited with his blade, the pair shared a taxi. Zenigata graciously offered to cover the bill for it, but with all the speed and grace of drawing Zantstsuken itself, Goemon was faster to unsheath his own wallet. 

He heaped the insult higher by tipping very generously. 

The two stepped out and Zenigata began to realize how much unwanted attention standing next to a guy dressed like this in the middle of a city attracted.  
  


He wasn’t looking to get recognized. In fact, this was a foolhardy and thoughtless move he hadn’t even anticipated. How did Lupin stand all this staring, hanging around a guy in costume all the time? Stupid question. The thief craved attention.

Zenigata grumbled at his own brief lapse in competence. But it put him off, imagining someone seeing this. Him standing around with a known criminal associate of Lupin, just having dinner. Anyone could pop out from behind a corner. With his luck, the moment Zenigata looked up, the next person to cross his field of view would be the one to start interrogating him. He hadn't thought this through.

Goemon took the lead and got two seats at the bar, leaving Zenigata to follow, attention wandering. 

He found his mind scrambling, forming excuses. He could claim this was information gathering. He was well aware of what the samurai was up to at the moment, and as it wasn’t a heist, Zenigata didn’t have to arrest him right now. This was strategic. Completely above board. Perfectly routine, to have a friendly meet up with criminals you’re sworn to hunt down during your paid vacation time.  
  


Goemon cleared his throat, sharp and insistent, trying to direct Zenigata’s attention to the waitress who was already asking him for his order.  
  


Zenigata managed a clunky bit of Italian. “Errrr... This please.” 

He lifted the menu high enough for the waitress to see it, and tapped his finger to the first ramen listed on the menu. He'd never been picky, even less so when it came to ramen. But still, he wished he'd had a little more time to think over his choice.

The waitress smiled and nodded, taking the menu off his hands. Attention back in the real world, Zenigata turned to look at Goemon. He checked his expression, looking for annoyance, trying to gauge his own rudeness via the Samurai's reaction. 

It was a fruitless endeavor. Goemon’s expression was completely flat. Bereft of clues, Zenigata decided an apology was the safe bet. After that, there'd be time to set the matter aside, and try to relax.

“How long has it been since you last saw him?”

Well, that wasn’t exactly an apology. 

Why is Lupin still all he can talk about even after a year? Zenigata was starting to wonder if he was even capable of conversations that don’t involve that bastard.

“I have not seen him since the wedding.”

Zenigata raised an eyebrow. He was expecting that Lupin would still at least occasionally see his gang. Were they really not as close as they seemed to be? He'd always assumed they were friends, but maybe it was more complicated than it looked. Goemon and Fujiko did seem to spend a bit more time together outside the group. He could swear he might have seen them huddled close together once or twice, sometimes even closer than she stood to Lupin. Maybe there was more to their relationship? Had it gotten awkward after Lupin got married?

This line of inquiry struck him as pretty invasive. It was one thing to speculate on the inner workings of Lupin's group when it was part of an investigation. But now, it felt uncomfortably like nosing into personal gossip. How odd, to think even for a moment that Lupin deserved to hide anything away from the eyes of the law.

Or to think that Goemon, at this moment, knew exactly as much about Lupin's goings-on as he did. 

Which is to say; Nothing.

Zenigata’s voice betrayed some of his unease. “Ahhh... I’m a bit surprised... what have you been up to?”

“Training.”

The reply was curt, and it made the inspector somewhat nervous that he may have angered the guy. Goemon’s temper was legendarily touchy, and the results of a wrong move could be painful.  
  


Talk about something else. Don’t talk about Lupin. Don’t talk about Lupin. Surely this time, he could do it.  
  


“You know... I don’t think I’ve eaten ramen as much now that I’m spending more time in Japan. When I leave the country it’s all I can think about... but as soon as I’m home I end up eating everything but that!”

Zenigata ended his observation with a rumbling chuckle, hoping to break some tension.

“I’m afraid I cannot relate. I have noodles often. And the broth is always best in a real ramen restaurant in Japan where they’ve been doing it for decades and have perfected their craft properly. Practiced skill and artistry come through in the taste.”

“Mmm...” 

Zenigata bit his lip. This stuff was tricky. Each of Goemon's responses just made him feel bizarrely self conscious. Had he been enjoying ramen wrong all this time? For Zenigata, it was a comforting thought that he could always pack a few instant ones in his suitcase. Sure, he loved fresh when he could stop in a city and take the time, but he rarely could. And even if the instant packs got used up, tons of stores all over the world had them now.

Their warm, salty embrace could always be waiting for him, even after a humiliating defeat at the hands of Lupin’s gang. Every bowl had unique charm, but as long as he had been traveling, it was helpful to have at least one familiar face. Something to come home to. A rush of steam to clear his nostrils and renewed resolve for marching back to it day after day. Year after year.

“I guess you’re right. Kinda funny to leave Japan, and head to Italy for your ramen.” 

Zenigata laughed and shrugged at absurdity. With Lupin you quickly learned, there were always absurdities, no sense in cleaving to logic when emotions and whims were just as important.

Two large bowls arrived in front of them, quickly ending the need for further discussion. Zenigata’s chopsticks made quick work of the contents. He had a bad habit of eating quickly, and he was starving after the long flight. He knew they had several more hours of alertness ahead of them, and the anticipation had started to churn in his stomach.

They were going to see Lupin.

Zenigata finished first, and while sipping the broth, he thought again about what he would say to the man. On the flight, he'd played the fantasy out in his head, again and again, endless variations, trying to predict what Lupin would be like now. What he'd do.

Some plans were as simple as a hug, others as elaborate as a swarm of cops surrounding the whole block, blue and red lights shining off his cuffs. But all the plans would doubtless come to nothing. When eye-to-eye with that monkey face, Zenigata would be bound to do what he always did: barrel in on first impulse.

“Please allow me to cover dinner, Inspector.”

He hadn't even seen Goemon reach for it, and Zenigata’s pride was starting to feel some sting. Goemon’s wallet seemed considerably fatter than his. Of course it was! How could he forget? This was a dinner on stolen funds. These were thieves.

Goemon took the bill, and folded the tip into a small origami flower. A startling, but charming gesture. It was cute. He wondered if Goemon always did things like that. Had he just never had the chance to have a leisurely meal with him? 

As they got up to leave, he could hear another customer give a very crass attempt at the waitress’s attention.

“Hey cutie, what time does your shift end?"

She frowned slightly and pretended to have not heard. Zenigata’s mind went immediately to Lupin, and his frequent habit of saying rude things to women. He couldn’t help but speak up loudly, angry at the very concept of Lupin. And, of course, the man in front of him, too.

“Sir, it’s rude to make passes at women while they’re working!”

“What? Are you a cop?”

Oh no. He wasn’t supposed to be drawing attention to himself precisely because he **was** a cop. An off duty one, who was about to have a get together with the criminals he was assigned to capture.

He didn’t use it frequently, but he did have quite a large, imposing figure. He narrowed his eyes sternly, looming over him. “It doesn’t matter if I am, you should behave yourself.” 

  
The guy tried to act flippant, but he had clearly been cowed. 

“Whatever.” 

Zenigata knew defeat when he saw it. And with that, he left the restaurant, still fuming.

“The nerve of that guy! Work requires concentration and focus, doesn’t he understand that? You can’t have people flirting with you, winking at you while they run away! How’s someone supposed to get their job done with that kinda distraction!”

“Indeed.” Goemon replied quietly.

The two stood on the sidewalk, side by side. Silent. He glanced over at Zenigata. Expecting something? What in the world would he be looking for from him?

“Should I call a car?” Zenigata ventured to say with slight trepidation.

“Yes, please do,” the swordsman said with an affirmative nod.

He realized that Goemon hadn’t shown any sign of having a cellphone since they met up. Did he even have one? It seemed awfully inconvenient, but so was flying around the world with a samurai sword in a kimono. It tracked.

He called a ride. The one that would take them to Lupin's apartment. He was starting to feel his nerves kicking in. The closer the little car icon moved on the app, he could feel his shoulder tension increasing.

“Goemon. Can I ask your opinion?”

“If you wish. But I will not hold back.”

“It’s better if you don’t,” he scowled slightly, he knew the right answer to the question he was about to ask, and yet he still wanted validation for making the wrong one.

“Do you think I shouldn’t have come?”

The question hung in the air of the noisy city streets. Groups of people passed, scattered laughter, chatter, the buzz and rush of occasional traffic. It felt like a long silence, but the small car icon hadn’t moved much.

“I think Lupin wants you to.”

“I suppose you’re right. I think he does.” 

The inspector glanced down at his feet, feeling embarrassed that he asked. Feeling even more embarrassed by the answer. What did it really matter if it was the right thing to do, when what he really wanted was....

“Zenigata. When Lupin sends you an invitation, have you ever failed to show up?”

“Not that I remember.”

“You see. It’s as I said. He expects you.”

Zenigata’s face was warm. Was he angry? It must have been that. The idea. Lupin thinking of him as at his personal beck and call! That must be it. He was angry. Lupin had better be ready for a talking-to.

He and Goemon sat together in the back seat of the car. Another prolonged silence. Another chance to run through what he was going to say. Play it cool? Just say hello and be nice? He had so much he wished he could say, but all of it was ill advised, humiliating, or rage inducing.

When they got up to the door, Goemon didn’t hesitate, and gave the doorbell a firm press. Both of them were very meticulous, and together, almost exactly on time.

The door swung open with a familiar gusto. Zenigata recognized that fluidity, that motion, those hands, seconds before the voice greeted them. Seconds which would once have been the difference between failure and victory. The tension on the airplane, in the cab, it was nothing compared to the eternity it took for Zenigata's gaze to turn, to land upon that face. The itch to reach for cuffs he didn't even bring. The effort it took not to leap forward.

“Goemon and Pops! Sharing a cab?! Wow, have you been having fun already without us?”

“Lupin. Good to see you.” Goemon there, so cool and collected.

The grin hit him like a truck. The moment Lupin revealed himself was always a line drawn in the sand. Other people marked their lives through minutes, seasons, holidays. For Zenigata, though, there was only Preparation, and Lupin. And here he stood. Zenigata wasn't preparing or worrying any longer. Life could start again. He could feel his heart in his ears. And all his tension boiled over as anger. 

Lupin's eyes widened. He seemed equally as surprised to see Zenigata. Did his heart beat faster too? Was he fighting his own instincts? Was he struggling not to pick up those lanky legs, to flee before Zenigata clamped down the cuffs?

“Whoa, Pops! Settle down! The night is young." Lupin started to giggle. "I know you want to tie me up, but can’t we at least have a few drinks first?”

His teeth remained gritted, but Zenigata did his best to force the words out through them. 

“It’s nice to see you Lupin. Nice... place you have.”

Frustrating. Why did Lupin always make him feel embarrassed? As though, somehow, Zenigata was the one doing something wrong. He wasn't the criminal. If Zenigata had been doing his actual JOB, he SHOULD have been tying the bastard up. Why did the grubby weasel have to make something perfectly normal sound so off?

Lupin always made things so much more complicated.

Fujiko was at the top of the stairs, peering down. She looked exactly the same as Zenigata remembered her: with a dangerous smile, one that lured closer, made you hope to find out what was hidden behind those eyes.

And she was somehow always convincing you, each time, that it might be something new. It was an incredible talent, one he had yet to even begin to unravel. He wondered idly if even Lupin had a grasp on what she was planning or thinking. As a detective, Fujiko always vexed him.

He lifted an awkward hand to wave to her. “Fujiko, how have you been?”

“Good." And before he could object, she flashed that smile again. "Honest, Pops. We’ve been being _very_ good. But I bet you already knew that, right?”

Lupin grinned and patted a hand against his back, “Yeah I bet Pops didn’t even need us to send him the address. You’re always stalking me, aren’t ya?”

Zenigata blushed at being called out. Sure he had checked in a few times, but that was only logical. Lupin was his responsibility. If he was leaving Lupin to fly free as a bird, then the thief better not be breaking their deal. 

Being in this company was too off-putting. Zenigata reminded himself that there was no need to act so civil and shy: he was the one in the right after all. Why shouldn't he have his suspicions? He stumbled onwards, up the thin, well decorated staircase.

The apartment's interior was lavish, but in impeccably good taste. Lupin had a keen eye for art and Fujiko loved finery. Unsurprising that they would settle down to the finer things. Zenigata turned a suspicious eye toward the hallway, his gut warning him that more than a few of the paintings there might be originals. A quick peek left him frustrated, unable to verify his suspicions. Fujiko led him into a large living room space, comfortably filled with a sofa, recliner, huge TV, and a full wet bar. The walls gave way to floor-to ceiling windows. The view stretched out around him, a cityscape drenched in a steadily setting sun. The red light fell on his wide eyes, and Zenigata’s heart ached.

Their breathtaking home was funded by a career full of Zenigata's personal failures.

He could feel a biting breeze stirring, whipped from his memory and around his cheeks, as he recalled Lupin, a precious emerald in his greedy little hand, waving down at him, then clutching the end of a rope ladder. The helicopter ascending. Lupin blowing a kiss as he faded from view, leaving Zenigata to curse and scream in the middle of a highway with 20 crashed police cars.

He pounded a heavy fist on the wet bar. It was sturdy, solid, and more real than any of his memories. But of course it was. Not like the cheap bargain furniture he’d had to fill his own apartment with. It made his hand throb.

A second fist hit the bar, right near his own, and Zenigata looked up, back into a face that hadn't lost a sliver of mirth.

“Ooh, someone is eager to get started! Yeah! Fujicakes! Drinks drinks drinks!” Lupin playfully chanted, continuing to pound both of his own fists on the bar as well. 

He hopped into the swiveling stool on the end, leaning his cackling head back, and letting the stool spin. Childish. But the way he was laughing filled the room. Made it feel a lot less large and stiff. Zenigata had rarely been on the inside of that laughter. Usually it was at his expense. This was his first invitation into a world that he had always only seen from a distance. He felt warmth in his cheeks and moved to sit down next to Lupin.

Fujiko rolled her eyes, but it was exaggerated. He could tell she was enjoying that smile just as much as he was.

Just as much...? Probably more, right? They were married after all.

“You’re the better bartender, Lupin. Why don’t you mix him something." Fujiko took a seat next to Zenigata, and touched Goemon’s shoulder softly. "And, we were warming some sake for you.”

The samurai’s face eased into a small smile. Lupin hopped into action, his well-manicured hands a flurry of activity. Though the inventory was neatly tucked away, the back of the bar must have been impressively stocked. Lupin pulled out fancy bottle after fancy bottle, uncorking things, tossing and catching ice cubes, pouring, shaking.

“At your service! Zenigata, how about a Manhattan, am I right?" Lupin sang out the words as he mixed. Still showy as ever. 

Lupin skewered three dark red cherries, and plopped them into a thick, crystal glass of amber liquid, before sliding it neatly down in front of Zenigata. He paused a moment, long enough for Zenigata to wonder if Lupin was waiting for a tip. Something bright in his eyes, waiting for something.

Oh, right.

Zenigata nodded a little too deeply, barking out a professional, "Thank you!"

Lupin's eyes lit up. His mouth was still curled in that annoying smirk, but there was no follow-up joke. No hit to Zenigata's pride. Just a second of that look, eyeing Zenigata as he lifted his drink.

And then Lupin was off again, pulling out more bottles, attention fixed on his wife.

"And for my Goddess, I’ll try to make something half as sweet as you!”

An idiot grin on his face, Lupin shook ice, spirits, and his own hips, before flipping open his cocktail shaker, pouring something peach colored into a tall, tulip shaped glass, and passing it across the bar. As she took a short sip, Fujiko's shoulders relaxed. Closed her eyes and took in flavor. Zenigata wondered what fruit it tasted like. 

He turned to his Manhattan to take a sip, not too shocked that Lupin knew one of his drink preferences. The cherries were on some kind of fancy little metal toothpick, swirled end and all. Everything here felt like some kind of apartment he might see on an American TV show. Something with a team of designers, and an unrealistic extensive budget.

The doorbell rang, a pleasant but cloying sound. Lupin's gaze sprung immediately to attention. Zenigata had watched after a friend's dog once. She always popped up, excited by the doorbell. She'd moved the exact same way when his friend came home. 

“Oh! That must be Jigen-chan! Always gotta be fashionably late." He was on his way out of the room with a wink before anyone could object. "Be right back! Don’t start spin the bottle without me okay?!”

Goemon’s eyes followed Lupin as he left. The room went quiet. Empty again, without Lupin to fill it up. Zenigata watched the others from behind his glass, and noted the light huff of a sigh from Fujiko.

Zenigata looked over her expression. It was hard to read the subtleties of Goemon’s face, but Fujiko was a completely different story. Others could read only what she wanted them to see. Her features were still the same as when he'd met her, skin soft, eyes doey, lips prim, but full. How much effort did it take her to maintain that? The men in her gang could toss disguises on and off as they wished, looking as odd or ugly as they pleased. Constantly changing. But Fujiko was like a fixed point in time. Maybe it was effortless. Was that why Lupin had decided to stay with her? To hide away with someone who never changed, whose beauty never faded? Never having to surrender anything to the passage of time?

  
He'd been in the middle of eating a cherry, but Fujiko's eyes found his staring, and Zenigata coughed out a, “Thanks very much for having us.”

He had stopped treating Fujiko like any other woman, not that his relationship with her was similar to any other woman in the first place. But it seemed like the thing you were supposed to say.

Fujiko laughed. It was hard to tell what that meant. But she didn’t seem angry. She tilted her throat back, earrings gleaming in the cushion of her auburn hair, and took another sip of the pink liquid in her glass. He could see the muscles in her throat clench as she swallowed it.

“Just don’t get too riled up, okay?” She looked back again, and smiled. "It'll spoil our little party if you cart my husband off to jail."

“Oh! I...” 

He looked away from her, down at his drink. She wasn't wrong. He had already reached twice for handcuffs that weren’t there. That itch. It was all Lupin's fault.

“It’s a habit.” Zenigata finally ventured. "Sorry."

Under Fujiko's eyes, wanting to arrest Lupin made him feel guilty. But under the watchful eye of his ancestors, NOT arresting Lupin was making him feel guilty. He wanted to shut them all up. He took a large swig of his drink.

Her lips curled into a casual smile. “It's all right. A Lupin habit is quite a hard one to kick.”

Was she mocking him? For the life of him, he couldn't tell.

Goemon spoke up. “You mentioned hot sake?” 

Was that a hint of excitement in Goemon's tone? Zenigata sympathized. Hot sake was always a real comfort after a long day of failing to capture Lupin. Or a long day dealing with a distraught police Inspector. There'd been a lot of both of them.

“Oh Goemon, sorry, I forgot. It’s in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.” 

And just like that, it was again down to just Goemon and Zenigata. Zenigata drained the rest of his glass. If it was empty, maybe he could ask after that sake, too... That could make for a fine conversation. 

He turned to Goemon. “What’s your favorite kind of sake?”

“Any brewers who use traditional methods. Ones which take time. One can always taste when brewers are taking shortcuts. It is the same as with ramen. With anything. It is a matter of craftsmanship.”

Zenigata nodded. That was the sort of answer he'd expected.

“I like nigori. Looks nice and goes down well with curry.”

“Hmmm. I agree."

“Do you want some of this too, Zenigata?” Fujiko’s voice preceded her return to the room. 

She had a tall open jar, an oven mitt, and a stack of few short traditional sakazuki dishes. Goemon got to his feet to help her, setting the dishes on the bar in front of the three of them. Fujiko moved to pour the warm liquid into each, and sitting between them, gave a smile as warm as the sake.

She raised the shallow dish to her lips. “Shall we?”

Zenigata quickly followed, lifting his. Goemon pulled his towards his nose first, gently inhaling, a serene smile on his face

“To your good health.” Zenigata finally said by way of a toast to the current company.

“Likewise, as long as you keep your hands to yourself.” Fujiko winked at him.

“Kanpai,” Goemon offered right before he tipped up and finished the dish.

The other two did the same, the warm sweet sensation still lingering in his mouth. Fancy cocktail drinks were fine, but this was more Zenigata's speed. Conversation began to flow more freely.

It had been so many years since he had friends on the force. People usually found him a nightmare to work with. Granted, he deliberately drove people off the case, and actively sabotaged the partnerships his superiors forced on him in the past. He wanted Lupin all to himself. He wanted to CATCH Lupin himself. On his own terms. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it if someone else brought him down. Especially considering how many times he had to beg local police departments not to shoot at the man... even then it was a constant issue.

A lot of rich people had a grudge against Lupin, and it wasn’t too hard for those rich people to make the rules and laws suit their own whims in a lot of countries. Zenigata had to work and research to keep the details of Lupin’s exploits clearly logged and not let them get away with claiming they could kill him on sight for some crime he was being framed for. It was a constant responsibility and it made him furious when people tried to shove their hands into it, when they didn’t understand what he had put into this case.

Ultimately though, it all meant he had been a loner for some time. He had recently been assigned a new partner that hadn’t been chased off as of yet. But they still weren’t close. He hadn’t shared his Lupin files with the kid, that’s for sure.

  
Fujiko and Zenigata were laughing at a joke Goemon had said (at least, Zenigata hoped it was a joke. He was going to feel lousy if he'd just joined in on Fujiko's bullying), when Lupin and Jigen entered the room.

Jigen Daisuke might've been long and lanky. But he slouched over like a dripping candle, body running all over whatever chair had the misfortune to seat him. His suits might have been designer. But he brought none of the presence that world leaders or tech billionaires would have, hands stuffed into pockets or thumbs shoved through belt loops. He wore them without poise or grace. Seemed that the simple act of existing was a huge favor the world had asked of Jigen. And he let everyone know what an obnoxious favor it was, in every movement and sigh.

Lupin's partner- no, Zenigata corrected himself. Lupin's ex-partner. What was he doing now? Jigen was a crack shot, and had skulked through the underworld, protecting or taking whichever lives had the highest payout. As with Goemon, Zenigata's attention had often passed over Lupin's associates. Ever fixated on his goal. And why not? Where Jigen's flame barely flickered, Lupin was always alight like a torch. Lupin tried to sling an arm over Jigen's shoulder, but the sullen man sloughed it off. The brim of his hat was already shading his eyes, but he tugged at it, fingers worrying the brim.

The gunman eyed Zenigata, and from his current seated position, for once, Zenigata could easily see the eyes tucked away under the brim of that hat. Jigen wasn't too far in age from Zenigata, and he showed every day of those years. Bags under sunken eyes, gaze flitting around the room. He was easier to read than the rest of them. He pulled the brim down again, emotions once again unreadable.

There was no cigarette between his teeth, but Jigen's voice was unmistakably that of a smoker. “Hey, you even invited Pops.”

“Yeah, it didn’t feel right not having everyone for the party. Right, Fujiko?” 

Lupin shot her a smile, and it looked a little too broad. Too much tension in the eyes. Nerves?

She didn’t reply. Maybe she just didn’t have the chance, because the silence was quickly interrupted by a dispassionate,

“Ah yeah. Happy anniversary to you.”

Jigen’s hollow congratulations got Fujiko to her feet. Lupin's smile was indeed tense now, but Fujiko had that same slow, predator's smirk. With a gesture of her hand, she offered her seat to Jigen. Jigen slumped down between the two men. Fujiko padded over to Lupin, tracing her fingers along his sleeve, and wrapping him from behind in a casual embrace.

“Thanks for coming, Jigen. How long has it been?” She pressed a cheek against Lupin's, and the tension drained from his face, a goofy grin spreading in its place.

Jigen leaned forward on the counter. “A while.”

Lupin spun around a bit, reached over Jigen’s shoulder. His hand brushed Jigen's suit jacket as Lupin rescued Fujiko’s cute peach drink. Zenigata couldn't look. Lupin was so inconsiderate. Always wiggling his way around, never mindful of the little promises those brushes make you feel. But Jigen didn't seem to notice. The grubby little bastard was lucky it was Jigen he'd done it to, and not Zenigata.

Lupin snuggled close to Fujko, nearly spilling her drink. “How’s the sake, Goemon? I got the right stuff, right?”

Goemon gave a rare vote of commendation. “Indeed. It’s excellent.”

It was actually very good. The last time he had sake like that? Probably when he had caught Lupin briefly a few years ago. Maybe it was a decade, now that he considered it. Time really flew.

Jigen's tone was flat. “Let’s have another round, then.”

Dishes were set, filled, and emptied into happy mouths. Several times. Zenigata found it harder and harder to keep up with the conversation.

Lupin took a seat on the edge of the wet bar, swinging his legs back and forth, looking down at the rest of them. “Well, I want to hear about all your adventures! How about you Pops? Tell me you haven't been _too_ lonely without me! ”

His head was beginning to float a little on his shoulders, but Zenigata did his best to respond. “Err... well... I’ve been keepin’ an eye on you, of course. But after a few months it just didn’t feel right havin’ the ICPO payin’ for me to do nothin’. So I asked to be taken off the Lupin case.”

Sake went down the wrong pipe, and Lupin coughed. “Oh-hoh y-yeah? Well that’s great news! Now I can get back to things without any trouble!”

Zenigata's next drink did not make it to his mouth, as for the second time this evening, his fist slammed down on the bar. “I’m still watchin’ you! We made a deal!”

Lupin chortled out a careless laugh. “Ghu-huhuhuuu! I know Pops, I’m only kidding.”

Words were springing too easily to Zenigata's mouth. The liquor was running fast and free, and there was no feeling of limitation here, just a warm room and an endless night sky billowing out over the lights sparkling from the beautiful city below. It was all too tempting to open up. But he couldn't share it with these people. God knew Zenigata didn't want to talk about how he’s been FEELING this year. 

He steeled himself, 'Stick to the events, Zenigata.'

“Got me a newbie to babysit. Heh. He looks up to me, I guess. He’s a bit naive. Decent enough kid, though.”

Yatagarasu Goro. The newbie was a change of pace. Zenigata had worked with people before, but oftentimes he was assigned partners to spy on him, or keep him away from places powerful people didn’t want cops sniffing around. And if the spying excuses for partners weren’t there just to sabotage him, they usually asked to be reassigned. Zenigata was almost always “on the job.” Which meant any partner he had would have to deal with the same absurd hours and travel schedule.

Not to mention the biggest issue: they had to deal with Zenigata. Not many people on earth were cut out to catch Lupin the Third. That’s just how it is. It was his duty, and his destiny. Lupin was his. His to catch. Or his to let go…

Zenigata shook his head. Yata hadn't been too bad, seemed sincere at least. And since lately he hadn’t had Lupin to chase, there was no risk. Having the company was nice.

“Well... they put me on a few major smuggling cases. I had to be out in the woods for a couple weeks in a bear costume." The others snickered, but Zenigata clenched his jaw, and pushed through.

“Had to rough it. Camped out for two whole months. This organization had quite the operation, and even when I did meet back up with my men, we were outmanned. The scum thought they had me figured out, I was in a ditch dodgin’ artillery shells. Had to pull the old dummy corpse trick to throw 'em off.”

“You win some, you lose some." Jigen offered in consolation. "At least you’re still alive and kickin’."

“Oh, I got ‘em. Took down the whole ring. Which of course didn’t improve my popularity back at the office. A few upper management guys were hopin’ this would be the one that finally did me in. 'Cuz it turns out they were involved in some of the permits. Thought it might be a convenient place to end my career.”

In fact, to take this little vacation, he was missing some kinda accommodation ceremony. Or maybe it was an inquiry testimony thing? It was all a blur. He’d sat through too many officials talking for far too long. The only thing he ever wanted to celebrate was Lupin’s capture.

  
Lupin laughed, full-throated, joyful. “You sure love painting a target on your back! Even more than I do, huh, Pops?”

Zenigata couldn’t help but smile a bit back at him, “They’re findin’ out slowly what you already know. I’m hard to get rid of.”

“Admirably persistent.” Goemon said from his side.

“And harder to kill than a damn cockroach.” Jigen begrudgingly admitted.

High on the company and another empty glass that once held a Manhattan, Zenigata laughed. “Heh heh heh, don’t you criminals ever forget it!”

Lupin beamed back at him. Zenigata's cheeks were red from drink, but such a fond look was more than enough to redden them further.

Fujiko spoke up, “Lupin, you should make your good friend Zenigata another drink.”

“We’re not friends!” Zenigata’s objections were automated by this point. If he was angry at the accusation, he wasn't sure why. This was where he wanted to be more than anywhere else.

“Awww, come on now Pops, can’t you just say we’re friends! That’s why you’re here isn’t it? Aren’t you all my friends?”

Lupin mugged, lips pursing into an exaggerated pout. But as he looked from face to face, none responded, and the question hung in the air.

Zenigata wasn’t sure who was supposed to speak first. Someone ought to respond. The longer they all waited, the less Lupin's goofy pose could keep things light.

But it couldn’t be Zenigata's responsibility, right? He couldn't be Lupin's friend. They were rivals. It would be a lie for him to speak up. And it would be out of turn. The others deserved this chance to speak up and bond with their old pal. What was their deal? He assumed they all were friends. They were more than coworkers, weren't they? Perhaps Goemon was too soft spoken. But why wasn't Jigen speaking up?

He thought back to the wedding. There wasn't much of a wedding party, or guests. It had been done in secret. Zenigata had asked dozens of questions. Why the couple had chosen blue roses. Whether this was official. Who, exactly, Fujiko's Maid of Honor was. 

But as Lupin, dressed in a crisp but somewhat understated tux, affixed a boutonniere to Zenigata's coat, Zenigata asked one more question. Why Jigen wasn’t Lupin's best man.

Lupin laughed that question off. Made some joke, said words that didn't stick in Zenigata's mind. Finished attaching the fragrant flower, soft fingers lingering on Zenigata's lapel. That moment was etched in stone. Walked off and down the aisle.

And sure enough, sitting at the bar, Lupin laughed this off too.

“So cold. So cold! And I even got you guys the expensive alcohol! So how about you, Goemon! Any new techniques? You must have gotten something good done in all that training time.”

If Goemon had noticed any awkwardness, he didn't show it. “I have been focused on a difficult technique. A way of moving that allows a man to slip between two opponents and disarm them.”

“Sounds pretty useful,” Lupin chimed back.

“Oh it was,” Jigen returned.

“Goemon and I did a few...” Zenigata can tell Jigen’s gaze now rested on him. Probably going to avoid any details on this. But he’s listening.

“Weeks. In meditation. In the mountains. Right Goemon?” Jigen said, as he gave Goemon a gentle shoulder nudge.

Goemon looked down at his sake, taking another sip, before replying with a quiet, “Yes.”

Fujiko filled Goemon's cup. “Come on, now. What did you really do? Zenigata’s not gonna do anything to you, you’re not Lupin.”

Jigen pulled out a pack of cigarettes, retrieved one, and began to chew on it. A smile curled around his lips. “Thank god.”

Lupin peered, indignant, over his sake. His mouth got so big, so wide, when he was upset. “You guys are just jealous that Pops only has eyes for me. And that I’m married to the prettiest woman on earth, and I’m the world’s greatest thief." He lifted his dish, punctuating the end of his brag. "I’m Lupin III!”

Zenigata nearly fell off his seat. “What is THAT supposed to mean?!” 

Where did that monkey-faced villain get off saying things like that?! It was his JOB to catch Lupin! Sure, Zenigata might think and talk about him constantly. Sure he might always be wondering what he’s doing at the back of his mind. But that’s the only way a person could catch a man like him! Maybe he had slight tunnel vision. Maybe this year has been destroying him just a little bit. 

Maybe not seeing him made it distressingly clear how he felt, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself.

His grip on his self control was slipping. He thought of the months he’d spent cooking nightly for Lupin while he was in prison. Spending every night hoping he would just try to escape so he could chase him again. The times they had long emotional conversations because they both had nothing better to do. Alone together on that island... and the last few weeks where he had to watch that idiot practically starve himself to death. Feeling such profound grief, sure that he’d actually died and that not one of his friends had come to save him.

And yet somehow this whole retirement was hurting Zenigata even more. At least when it looked like Lupin died, he felt like it had meant something! It was a sad but fitting end to the story! But with this marriage it was as if the thefts, the endless chase, as though none of it had ever mattered at all… it was just gone all in one day.

  
He huffed and puffed to try to calm himself down. A firm grip wrapped around his shoulder, and gave him a solid clap on the back. Jigen. The touch startled him but... it was friendly. Maybe his version of gentle. Zenigata's breathing started to slow.

Jigen's eyes were anyone's guess, but the mouth was smiling. “If you promise not to be a narc, Pops, I’ll tell you.”

“No promises.” It was gruff, but Zenigata got the words out.

“Well. Some guy hired Goemon and me to protect a vault. I know, right? That was wild. Some days we had these huge groups of guys trying to break in, and then some days it was nothing. We got bored half the time. And then creative the other half.”

He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, gesturing with it. “And then he tried to stiff us, so we took all of the jewels in there at the end. You should’ve seen Goemon’s face.”

Fujiko leaned over the bar. Her shirt was low, and Zenigata tried to keep his eyes up. “Gonna share any of that score with us, Jigen?"

Jigen's laugh was high pitched, and sounded like a dry cough. “Why the hell not? You and Lupin were always the ones with good fencing contacts. I just have a big pile of rubies back at my place. Whatdya say." With Jigen's arm still around his shoulder, he could see Jigen’s toothy grin, the rest obscured under the brim of his hat. "70/30? That was your usual shtick right?”

Zenigata wasn’t going to sit here and let them mock him like this. He shook Jigen off, “That’s enough of that! No illegal activities at this party!”

“It’s MY party, Pops! It seems like I should get to make the rules.” The smug little grin on Lupin’s face was enough to make him want to slug the grimy jerk.

“And right now I wanna drink!”

Goemon stared dead ahead. “I did not know it was illegal to drink in Italy.”

Was Goemon... telling a joke? Or maybe he was just easy to fool.

Fujiko had made it back behind the bar, and pulled out a glass. She held it up to the light, examining it. Her tongue gave a soft cluck of disapproval, “Sorry, this glass is a little dirty.”

Lupin scooped it up. “It’s fine."

One of her fingers crooked under Lupin's chin, tilting it up. “What can I fill it with?”

Zenigata shifted, uncomfortable. He couldn't look away from the intensity between them. Even a married couple shouldn't flirt so shamelessly, right?

“You can pick, I know I’ll like whatever you choose, Fujicakes.”

Jigen cut through, rapping his knuckles on the bar.

“What about what I like? Lupin, you're bragging about the booze, but this stuff is all shit. Cheap whiskey. Cruddy bourbon. Do you even have a bottle of rum? What kind of bar doesn't have the bare essentials?”

Lupin broke away from Fujiko, rolling his eyes at Jigen. “Can't drink in a comfy little bar? Do you even like rum?"

Jigen shrugged. "Maybe I'm in the mood for it. Or a half-dozen of the other things you don't have."

"So picky Jigen-chan. FINE. There’s a liquor store two blocks up.”

Lupin hopped around the bar, and grinned at Fujiko.

“Do you have to go?” She pouted at him.

“Keep that cute face right there, I’ll be back for the drink before you can miss me!” He planted a kiss on her cheek and headed for the door.

“I miss you already.” She said with a smile.

“Oh, in that case!” He hustled back over and kissed her again, before scampering out.

Zenigata's eyes were wide, fixed on Lupin. So... weirdly domestic. It reminded him of days with his ex-wife. Of a time filled with those flirting reminders that another person was focused on you. Fingers lightly gripping shoulders. Quick, tiny affirmations. A mundane, easy sweetness that didn't belong in the hands of thieves. A gentle quiet that had no place in the mouth of a spy. His head swam, and his eyes felt like they're burning.

He blinked, and reassured himself that the wetness there was just because he was staring too hard. He took another sip of...whatever he was drinking, by this point. The alcohol burn in his throat balanced out the one in his eyes, and he decided that that was the same as feeling better.

Goemon’s voice perked up. “More sake please.”

Fujiko poured him another small dish full. Zenigata put down his...glass? Yes. More whiskey. How much had he had? The ramen felt like hours ago. A full belly could suck up the alcohol, but that buffer was long gone. This whole scenario was a bit dreamlike to begin with, but it had become harder and harder to tell exactly what was going on.

Goemon and Jigen didn't make a sound, at ease with each other’s company. Quietly drinking side by side seemed to be something they had a lot of practice with. Fujiko was still drinking, too, but there was a distance between them and her.

“Hey Fujiko," Jigen waved a flippant hand, "sorry I made him go out.”

Her tone is chilly. “It was his choice."

Jigen paused. Maybe he was just talking to himself. If Zenigata hadn’t been sitting right next to him, he’s not sure he would’ve heard it.

“It was,” Jigen mused softly.

“We all know nothing can change his mind once Lupin has made a decision.” Goemon says.

He’s right about that, it's undeniable fact.

“He’s that kinda idiot...” Zenigata chuckled. 

It was endearing in its own way. When Lupin said he would, he would, even if it was stupid, or there was an easier way. Zenigata had used that to his advantage more than once. And more than once Lupin had faced the impossible, and made it all the more humiliating for Zenigata when he succeeded.

“I miss chasing him.”

He put a hand to his head. His cheeks were burning. He hadn't meant to get this drunk.

Fujiko's laugh was grace itself. “I know what you mean.”

Jigen nudged Zenigata, his bony elbows making it perhaps sharper than intended, and gave a wry grin. “Can't speak for our idiot pal, but I missed you, ya big lug.”

“Wuh, really?”

Oh no, here came the tears. Zenigata was going to hate himself when he sobered up.

Jigen looked up at Zenigata, brim pulling up to reveal a pair of shockingly earnest eyes, “Yeah, of course. You can come chase me around any time, if it helps.”

Zenigata could have hugged the smirking gunman.

“I would rather you did not chase me.” Goemon added.

“Agreed." Fujiko was in the middle of mixing vodka and cranberry juice. Zenigata couldn't, in the moment, remember what that drink was called. "I would prefer to do all my dirty deeds without getting caught."

“I can’t say I’m that exciting to chase. Not nearly as exciting as Lupin.” Jigen admitted, tossing a fresh cigarette into his mouth and flicking his lighter.

“You could probably just walk from bar to bar 'til you find him.” Fujiko gave a cool laugh.

“Harsh but fair.” Jigen chuckled back, a bit too gruffly. He pulled the brim of his hat down again, but not before Zenigata could see tightness in the lines on his face.

Jigen chewed on his cigarette. The lit cherry bobbed up and down. "But if you wanna know where to find Fujiko Mine, you can always-"

In a blur of kimono fabric, Zantetsuken was drawn, and Jigen lost the end of his cigarette.

Everyone panicked about the same amount as Zenigata, which is to say, both he and Fujiko moved behind Jigen for safety. Jigen's magnum was already in his hand. If someone asked Zenigata which was faster on the draw, he couldn't have told them, even while sober.

“Easy there! What’s happening, Goemon?”

Goemon didn’t move, but a red tinge spread across his own face. Mortified, drunk, or both?

He bowed his head. “I apologize. It is nothing.”

Jigen laughed hard, a high pitched, cooing laugh, and coughed his broken cigarette out onto the bar. “Scared the hell out of me, man!”

Fujiko glared and shoved an ashtray closer to him. “I’m cutting you both off on the sake if you even THINK of pointing those at me!”

“I am truly sorry.”

The weapons were sheathed, and they all settled back in, covering nerves with more laughter. 

Zenigata’s brain stumbled through the drunken haze, his heart still pounding. He could barely follow Jigen and Fujiko teasing Goemon. He let one of the ice cubes in his nearly empty glass slip onto his tongue and slowly melt. 

His Lupin senses were tingling. Something burning in his gut. He’d learned to trust this feeling over the years, no matter how crazy it made him sound. It allowed him to show up early to heists, gave him preparation time long before Lupin sent his little calling card. There had been false alarms, but in the end, it was worth it to listen. It had been well over a year since Zenigata had last felt this, and he worried that it was just wishful, drunken thinking.

Maybe Lupin was robbing the liquor store right now. Bullshit. Why would be be doing something so pointless and stupid.

Unless maybe this was all a setup. He'd invited Zenigata, knowing that he’d know and come running. That he’d be close enough to catch him in the act and chase him all over this damn city. Zenigata wished he had brought the cuffs, now more than ever. And he also wished he hadn’t had this many drinks. It would be hard to run after that little bastard. Lupin was still sober, wasn't he?

It was a trap, this whole time this was all some elaborate distraction. To what? Steal alcohol? No! Hell no! To get back into the game! He could have done it with more flair, certainly. But! This would be a perfect way to make sure he would find him and chase him. And that’s what mattered. That’s ALL that mattered.

  
Zenigata stretched out his foot, trying to reach the ground. It was tricky work. “I’m startin’ to worry about Lupin.”

“Oh. Starting.” Fujiko rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, like he hasn’t been thinking about him the entire damn time.” Jigen added, jeering.

Zenigata officially revoked Jigen's hug privileges. What an asshole. These horrible criminals just didn't understand his motives. They’re entirely pure, it’s his destiny! 

Okay... not entirely pure, but it was a very high and substantial percentage pure.

He wobbled his way toward the door a little too fast for his current sense of balance. Everything was moving just a bit longer than it needed to. He looked at the floor, thinking about how he might be about to become far more well acquainted with it. The floor was being kind enough to make the first move all on its own, rushing up to deliver a very personal hello-

“Wow Pops, you are really getting into this party, huh? Maybe we should cut you off!”

Feet scrambled, bags were tossed aside, and a pair of wiry arms swooped nimbly under his shoulder to prop him up.

Oh. There he is.

Zenigata felt his knees weakening, leaning on him even harder. His mind reeled back to a time when Lupin had carried him out of a burning building. It was rare, the majority of their chases Lupin didn't mind dropping him out of an airplane or off of a bridge, or leaving him on a train careening out of control. But every so often, when the stakes warranted it, Lupin didn't leave him to die.

It reminded him of how painfully abandoned he’d felt this year. He thought their chase had meant more to him. Zenigata had made the deal at the wedding, ostensibly because the point of all of this was to make sure Lupin wasn’t out there committing any more crimes. That was his job, even if he had done it unconventionally.

But that wasn’t what he wanted. Not deep down. He wanted to test his wits against the greatest thief on earth. He wanted to give everything he had, all his energy, all his strength and all of his heart, and to finally best him. To have him admit that this time, Zenigata was the winner. To prove to him that he was a worthy opponent.

He felt nauseous, his whole weight slumped against the smaller man’s body. Apparently their rivalry was something Lupin could move on from. Zenigata was just an amusing obstacle that he’d overcome long ago. A puzzle he’s already solved. Put it back in the box. 

Forget all about it.

“Got your rum, Jigen. In the bag.”

Goemon came over and retrieved the heavy bags. Lupin’s grinning face next to his, their cheeks close enough to brush, made Zenigata want to cry again.

Lupin helped guide him back into his seat at the bar, while Jigen riffled through the bag. He grabbed what looked like a random bottle, uncapped it, and took a swig straight from it.

“Geheheh Pops, I can tell you missed me!” Lupin teased, slipping out from under his arm and into the seat next him.

“I didn’t miss you.” He mumbled, sinking back down into the chair. Humiliating, this is absolutely humiliating.

“Too bad Zenigata, Fujiko’s got him.” Jigen said, patting his shoulder, “Here, this’ll help sober you up, old man.”

Jigen lifted a cigarette to Zenigata’s lips and lit it before he could object. Zenigata had quit smoking years and years ago. Had to keep up with Lupin. 

But he didn't have to worry about that now, did he? He took a drag. 

Ah. 

Yeah. That was pretty relaxing.

“You too Goemon. No more randomly trying to kill us okay?” Jigen ruffled his hair. 

Didn’t think Goemon would put up with that kinda thing, but he seemed to.

“I’ll do my best.” Goemon had a half smile on his face as Jigen lit another cigarette, this time for Goemon.

“You want that drink now, sweetheart?” Fujiko stood behind the bar, and poked Lupin in the nose with a stirring stick.

“Don’t mind if I do, thanks Fujicakes! And one more for Pops!”

“I really don’t know if I should....” Zenigata hesitated. But when Lupin held the glass out, he took it. It would help him relax, right? This was all getting too heavy. 

Fujiko finished stirring Lupin’s drink, the soft clink of metal on thick glassware was soothing in a way. She handed it to him and he smiled appreciatively at her.

He looked at Lupin. Lupin was happy. Zenigata needed to be happy for him. His failures shouldn’t make him resentful.

Zenigata tapped his glass to Lupin’s, the way he wished he could just lean over and do with his lips. 

Oh God no. Don’t go there. Focus.

He swung an arm around Lupin’s shoulder. He could feel his mouth about to open up and say all kinds of things he might regret. 

But he couldn't stop himself. “A toast to you and Fujiko. You know... I wasn’t ever a good husband myself. But I’m proud of you. You’re... doing it right. Anyone who looks at you can see. You're meant to be together. Everything that came first? That made you into the people you are now. People who belong together. Every single day. And Lupin? Maybe you belong in a jail cell. But you belong in this cell more. I...I mean! Because you're not living for crime, anymore. You’re living for each other, right?”

It wasn't the most deft or charismatic speech he'd given. But he hoped they could tell.

Lupin smiled softly at him. Clinked their glasses again. “Yeah. To us.”

Lupin took a sip and shut his eyes. He leaned his elbows on the bar and looked at Fujiko intently. But she turned her back.

“I’m gonna go get some snacks from the kitchen. You want anything?” Fujiko smiled.

“Ooh, get those cinnamon pecans!” Lupin said, overly enthusiastic for something so dull. She headed for the hallway and Zenigata stood up as well. Swaying a bit.

“Which way is your bathroom?” He needed to go to the bathroom anyhow. Maybe he could check to see if those paintings in the hall were stolen. He might even find something more exciting, snooping around just a bit. He didn't know why he didn’t think of it before. At the very least he could have a few fresh Lupin crimes to write up when he got back to the office.

“Up the hallway and to the right!” Lupin chimed back.

Zenigata tried to walk straight. He was still unstable, but moving more slowly this time. He put a hand to the lovely wallpaper, fingers bumping along it as he made his way down the hall. Textured. Classy.

He wondered if they picked it out together.

His hands brushed over a picture frame. He stared at the image behind the glass, squinting. It was a nice painting, ships on the ocean, he wasn't sure if he'd seen this somewhere before. Was it a famous painting? Has he seen it in the files? He was usually so focused on Lupin that he didn't always focus on the item he was protecting. Leave art appreciation to the art historians.

But that sure wasn’t helping him right now. If this was a real painting or a fake painting, how was he supposed to know? Was there some kind of app? God damn it. If the painting could... stop being so damn blurry maybe he could see what he needed to.

He moved on to the next painting, and gave it a long stare. It was a vase with yellow flowers. Kinda ugly. He sighed and tried his best to remember. It was probably some kinda fine art. He didn't really understand it. It just didn't interest him, he liked more physical arts. Like sports. Or dancing.

It’s been a long time since he danced. Maybe he would never dance again. Who the hell would he dance with?

This painting thing was going nowhere. He walked down the hall- still as slowly as he could- to the bathroom, keeping his eyes open for anything else. 

Then he saw it, the best chance he possibly had. 

An office right next to the bathroom door with a large desk inside. 

'Don’t mind if I do,' Zenigata's mind hums with satisfaction.

Breaking open the desk drawer would be trivial, but he realized they weren't even locked. Hah. Take that, Lupin. He was getting soft if even a drunken police inspector could get through his defenses. Zenigata riffled through the top one. Pens, little tools, knick knacks, seemed like Lupin was still tinkering around making little gadgets. That’s nice at least. But nothing Zenigata could work with.

However, the second drawer down gave him exactly what he was looking for. The mother lode. 

A drawer full of planner notebooks. 

Lupin took a lot of notes and planned his heists in them. The way they were written, and how vain he was, Zenigata had always guessed it was for being able to write a memoir someday. Zenigata had only ever gotten his hands on one, rescued from a hideout that they had hastily abandoned. It was his deepest, most personal insight into Lupin. He’d never shared it with anyone.

He scooped an armful out, digging around, checking date after date. His hands seized upon the notebook that came after his, chronologically. He’d always been curious about it. With a greedy grab, he pulled it open, diving into it as quickly as possible. Trying to make sure to set it firm in his mind.

Each page of the planner spelled out a week. The Thursday in question was marked with a large star and the words:

_Marine Tower. Diamond auction. Take is roughly 70M EUR._

A couple days were marked out for casing, or his associate's arrivals. But the rest of the page was, by and large, filled with a wild mess of plans, notes, and comments. Increasingly shoved together, little clusters of text pressed in on each other, as the week went on, and Lupin ran out of space.

_Defenses: Alarms, visibility, huge height,_ was neatly printed in blue ink, but a hasty note added in black ink next to it read: _electrified floors and ceilings! Thanks, Fujicakes! She showed up in her ugliest disguise yet!_ There were rough sketches of a somewhat familiar elevator interior, a time schedule that had been revised over and over, rough math from splitting the take three ways next to a cryptic, _I said no this time,_ an excited _Knew Goemon could catch me but he was so worried for me!_ _And,_ crammed into the margins: _steal Jigen the best damn doll ever made. Pink satin dress a MUST._

It was a haphazard notetaking system, and nigh illegible, but it wasn't Zenigata's first time attempting to decode it. It was the evolution of a plan, as different ideas shot up and were scratched out. No proper ledger or expense lists, but comment after gleeful comment of tiny memories and personal touches. Something Zenigata had tried, for years, to impress upon anyone who would listen. The excitement, the stories, the memories.

Lupin's real treasures. Who he was as a person rather than who he was as a mythical figure in news stories and carefully cultivated bouts of public showmanship and spectacle.

Zenigata snatched up another notebook, the one from last year.

_Honeymoon Ideas: Fujiko likes- Gelato, surprises, diamonds! Lots of diamonds! Massages, fancy hotels, breakfast in bed, place with lots of sun?_

Underneath in blue ink were dozens of cities, destinations, crossed out, rated for their suitability, with ideas, pros, cons next to them. At the spiraling end of Lupin's thought train one was circled, with some notes for surprises en route.

The bottom half of the page was substantially more lewd. Zenigata's collar felt somewhat tight as he read the words, _Scenes we should try._ But his eyes felt glued to the page. Lupin had put the same care and enthusiasm for casing a building, if not more so, in the section labeled _ways she likes to be touched._

Zenigata devoured page after page, dates planned meticulously, restaurants, home cooked meals with ingredients listed, flowers suggested by the dozen, jewelry delivery, trips planned to locations all over the world, plans for the house decor. 

_She always loved that Van Gogh._

Damnit, he knew that painting was stolen.

But white spaces were slowly spreading between the notes. The entries became more and more sparse. Ideas began to be reused. More notes were scratched out. He turned to pages with more scribbles and strikeouts than unadulterated words. Increasingly frustrated notes next to them.

_No reaction? Change to blue roses!_

_Didn’t make her smile! Need something better!_

_Bored her. Not exciting enough._

_Still nothing._

He turned over more sparse pages, until his fingers caught on a corner. It felt thick and rough, heavy. The page for this week.

_1Yr Anniversary Ideas_

It was covered with several heavy layers of white out. Small swirls of ink leeched and blotted through, as each successive attempt to cover up his mistakes ran together. The page was barely intact from all the abuse. Nothing was legible, even to Zenigata's keen insight. There was, however, a post-it note atop the whole mess.

_Invite the guys._

_Zenigata too???_ is written underneath. In a second color, the question marks have a strike through them, and his name is circled, with a _Why the hell not,_ for good measure.

_Design calling card???_ Is scratched out so hard, the post-it note is ripped, with flakes of white-out clinging to the torn edge.

Zenigata set the planner back down in the drawer. He could hear voices coming from down the hall. He dumped the notebooks back in, fumbled the drawer shut, and finally retreated to the bathroom. 

The small bathroom was dominated by an intimidatingly large mirror behind the sink. Zenigata looked up from washing his hands. The lines on his face seemed carved more deeply, and his eyes were bloodshot from the drinking. There was a little ink on his hands, from the notebooks. Sweaty, trembling fingers must have pressed too hard. He scrubbed a little harder with their fancy smelling soap, and it all came right off. His secret now safe and sound. Nobody needed to know he'd looked. He could ignore everything he'd read, and walk back over to the party. Lupin's secret safe and sound, too. It would be so easy not to say anything.

But it wouldn't be right.

By the time he made it back to the bar, he found only Jigen and Lupin, exchanging a hard glance at one another.

Lupin’s face warmed into a teasing grin the moment he saw Zenigata. “Pops! Hope you didn’t wreck my toilet, you took forever.” 

“Err... sorry.” He said, “Actually I want to talk to you about something.”

Jigen eyed him suspiciously. He had the same large bottle of liquor in his grip, and took another swig from it.

Lupin tilted his head, uncertain. “Sure...?”

Asking to talk about something always had that kind of emotional weight. It put people on edge. But Zenigata couldn’t think of a more elegant way to say it.

Someone had to say something about it. Right? Maybe it wasn’t his place to say it anyhow. His motives sure as hell weren’t only in Lupin’s best interest. He wanted this to end. Maybe it was all just jealousy and he was only imagining it. Plus, why was it his place to get to tell Lupin what to do with his own life?

Goemon returned to the room before he could say anything further.

“Jigen, Zenigata. It’s getting quite late. Perhaps we should not overstay our welcome.”

Lupin’s hands moved into a placating gesture. “Oh come on Goemon! It’s not even midnight, it’s no big deal.”

Goemon hardened his gaze on Jigen, who rose out of his chair, giving Lupin a casual smirk. “It’s late for those of us who’ve still got jobs to do. Unlike you, slacker.”

Lupin stood up, petulant energy rising. He opened his mouth, and Zenigata could almost hear the angry whining, the cajoling and arguing. But then Lupin seemed to deflate. Sullen, he dropped back into his seat.

“Yeah. It was nice to see you all. I’ll tell Fujiko you said goodbye.”

This wasn't what Lupin wanted. Fujiko hadn't come back, and it would be odd to say goodbye without her there. Something had clearly happened while he was gone. Something was off. But Goemon's resolve was too much for his still-swimming head to push back against.

The gunman and samurai both worked to help Zenigata safely down the stairs. Thoughts of gratitude were lost amidst more pressing concerns. There was still so much he wanted to say. Lupin stood at the top of the stairs, calling down at them. Trying to crack jokes. But he looked too sad for Zenigata to take the bait and fight back.

Was it wishful thinking to imagine Lupin had been bored as he was? That he wanted it all back, but just couldn’t say it? Maybe he hoped Zenigata would’ve brought the handcuffs. Brought a whole squad. Planned an ambush with 30 cars.

Jigen guided him to the front door, “We’ll get Pops to bed with something for his hangover. Don’t worry about it. Bye Lupin!”

“Give my regards to Fujiko.” Goemon finished gracefully.

Jigen was much more curt. “Same.”

Lupin waved from the top of the stairs. “Will do.”

Zenigata huffed. “I can do that myself. I’ve done it lots of times.”

They moved out of the door and back out into the well lit city street. Zenigata turned to say goodbye, but the door was already closed tight.

Jigen laughed at him. Responding to what Zenigata had said. As though they hadn't just left. As though walking away from Lupin's known location was normal, instead of an unnatural, _wrong_ thing.

Goemon and Jigen moved him along with them just by the momentum, moving up the street as a trio. The fresh night air held a little chill. It cleared his head a little, but Zenigata didn't want a better look at anything in there.

Once they reached the corner, Jigen’s posture relaxed slightly. The smokes were out again, and he sucked down half a cigarette in one long drag. Zenigata’s eyes followed the hot ash as it fell near his feet.

“Is he okay?” Zenigata can’t stop himself from asking.

Jigen shrugged. “You’re the detective. Should be able to investigate that yourself.”

Zenigata sneered. “I have my own theories, I just wanted to hear testimony from his best friends. What do you think?”

“It’s none of your damn business is what I think.”

Goemon was quiet, but he also sounded less than pleased. “I think that Lupin isn’t the only one to worry about here.”

“I’m fine!” Jigen and Zenigata snapped back at him at roughly the same time. 

Zenigata coughed. Jigen's gaze locked down at the sidewalk. He swung a leather-clad foot, kicking at a chunk of gravel.

“I see.” Goemon replied, still frowning.

They shared silent unease. Together, but alone in their thoughts. Goemon was the first to speak.

“Goodnight.”

And with that, he walked off into the night.

Zenigata squinted, as the samurai disappeared into the city. “Does he really just... walk everywhere?”

“Sure. He says it’s very good for calming your mind." Jigen tossed his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk, and ground it with his heel. "If it were early enough for a sunset I’d walk off into it too.”

That mental image was dramatic enough to make Zenigata chuckle, but the sound came out dry and hoarse.

Jigen smirked in response, but with his brim low, Zenigata couldn’t tell if it was warm, or humorless. Goemon’s silence, Jigen’s hat brim, Fujiko’s coy smiles, Lupin’s laughter. Zenigata knew they all had more beneath the surface.

Sometimes he was convinced the whole damn group was telepathic. They could switch plans on the fly, discuss and enact the most daring escapes, all without words. He wasn’t used to these fine emotional details in his investigation. He was used to reading the road map ahead. Prediction. Telling where they would all end up next.

There was more to this night, his gut was sure of it. Something major had happened, but he couldn't make it out under a shadow of alcohol and nerves.

“You good to get home on your own?” Jigen asked, though it seemed like he really was hoping for yes rather than a no.

“Been a lot drunker than this.”

“Great.” Jigen gave a small wave and crossed the street away from him, disappearing into a hotel just up the block. 

Well, he sure was staying close.

Alone, Zenigata loosened his tie, and undid the top button of his collar. He probably looked sloshed to the gills. Between the tears and the countless drinks, he needed to get home and get some water in his system, or tomorrow's hangover would be one for the books.

And then...what? Back to expense reports? Back to smiling and lying about how exciting his caseload was? Lying to himself that he was okay? That Lupin was okay, too?

That itch. It nagged at him.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, and texted Yata.

_Pull my Lupin files from storage. I've got a hunch._

He stared at his screen as the message went through. Some unnamed emotion bubbling up in his stomach. He saw that Yata was typing a response, but Zenigata put the phone back in his pocket, and headed for his hotel room. Tonight had been terrible. He'd kept it together as well as it could. But he could only stretch so far.

And as far as drunk texts went, at least that wasn’t the worst one he’d ever sent.


	2. Goemon

Goemon noticed Zenigata as soon as they boarded the plane. He hadn’t known that the Inspector had been spending time in Japan, but assumed it was a likely enough place for him to be. The Inspector worked for Tokyo’s police department, in a no doubt quieter time, back before Lupin had crashed onto the scene.   
  
And it was a dim recollection, but Zenigata had a family, did he not? Goemon tried to imagine what Zenigata’s family might look like. He was, however, very bad at being imaginative. He knew this, and it saddened him. He shifted slightly in his airplane seat. He could spend hours meditating on uncomfortable rocks, or sitting seiza. But this seatbelt band was troublesome.   
  
Goemon missed his own family. Their lives had been a flurry of adapting to changes of scenery, but what had occurred last year was bigger than any of them could have expected. Jigen was not handling it well. Maybe Goemon was not handling it well, either. It distracted him from training. The distraction wormed its way up in his mind, and he could not find a root, could not seize upon it and drag it away. 

Zantetsuken was stored with the luggage, and having it out of reach made the whole flight harder still. Once he was again on the surface of the earth, he could hold it again. He could be truly grounded.   
  
He returned his mind to diligent pursuits: meditating to pass the time. Focus did not come easily. The roar of the plane engines, his ears sore from the air pressure, a child crying and this nagging feeling of loss that he had been having to chase away. He reminded himself that all of it was temporary.   
  
Everything was temporary.   
  
Your family, your friends, your pain, your very life, all can fall away. And it passed the time to focus on letting it go. But the annoying, pointless drive to hold on was always waiting at the edges.   
  
He occasionally opened one eye to check on Zenigata. The man was also distracted by something. Too much to notice Goemon’s presence, several rows back. It was a small but warm consolation: Goemon would never let himself get into such a distracted state. Never so dulled that he wouldn’t realize an enemy treading so close behind.   
  
When he disembarked, Goemon made sure to keep some distance between Zenigata and himself. Better to observe and keep his advantage. And while Zenigata was not much of a threat, watching shortened the wait. He hated the bustle of most airports, everywhere you looked there were people in some kind of mixture of urgency and boredom. The intercom systems had a harsh quality that gave him a headache. 

His fingers twitched, empty.   
  


The luggage return chugged a slow pace, like a rotating sushi bar with the most bland and unappetizing fare. Zenigata’s malaise must have equalled Goemon’s, as his head turned up, finally noticing his unseen viewer. They met eyes, and Goemon held his gaze for a moment, long enough to communicate that he had seen Zenigata first, that he was not surprised to see him.   
  
Zenigata quickly made his way over. A giant of a man, his stride was twice that of Goemon’s. Had he not the experience of years of police chases, Goemon might have been intimidated by the Inspector’s forceful lumber. But it would be a lesser disciple to become nervous, without his weapon by his side. Goemon would never admit such weakness.

Feel it, perhaps. Admit it? Never.

Thankfully, Zenigata produced neither cuff, nor threat of incarceration.

“Goemon. How was your flight?”   
  
Such a mundane conversation topic. He was tempted to state the plain truth: his flight had been remarkably similar to Zenigata’s. Because it was the very same flight. But he decided against it. People tended to misunderstand when he tried to communicate his true thoughts. Instead, he chose a more delicate and nuanced move, responding with the answer that was expected of such questions.   
  
“Inspector. It was adequate.”   
  
Zenigata laughed. Why? What was funny about what Goemon had said? Goemon banished the confusion as soon as it began to creep into his mind. It did no good to attempt to ascertain the truth of such fleeting things.

  
Zenigata spoke as he finished his laugh. “Geheheh but the food sure wasn’t. I’m starving!”   
  
“Hm,” Goemon made a noise in his throat to make sure Zenigata knew he had heard him. 

However. He did not know what he was meant to say about the rest of it. Goemon had not tried the in-flight food. He had packed his own bento and had eaten a sufficient amount. 

For what move did this situation call? Again, Goemon could be neither blunt, nor fully honest. Zenigata had mentioned a problem. If Goemon did not address it, the man might feel as though Goemon wasn’t listening. Was his utterance of acknowledgement not enough?   
  
Zenigata’s tone showed frustration. Indeed, there must have been something he missed.   
  
Zenigata gestured with his hands. “I think there’s a good ramen restaurant. If you’re hungry, too.”   
  
Oh. It was an invitation. And Zenigata had picked something they both liked. He was saying he was hungry to make it easier to say they should go out to eat. Goemon felt his face soften slightly. He wasn’t exactly hungry, but people did not usually invite him anywhere. Zenigata was a man he respected, and despite it all, they shared a lot of history. He could appreciate his company.   
  
“I would not mind. After all, our appointment is not for a few more hours.”   
  
They stood next to each other, and Goemon found it easier to let his disquieting thoughts slip away. Meditation was always the most pleasant under the shade of a sturdy tree. The noise of the airport did not abate, but the wait was significantly more manageable.   
  
When he spotted the familiar shape of a well-bound case inching its way along the luggage belt, he took swift initiative through the crowd of other passengers. He picked Zantetsuken up with a gentle sigh. He knew the weight well, it was safely inside. As though enveloped by a thick cloud of incense, relief overtook him, and he relaxed his shoulders.   
  
At one time, his luggage had been sent along to the wrong airport. Goemon was certain that he had taken the setback with grace and poise, but still, Jigen had described him as “inconsolable,” and Lupin mugged and called him “a moody meiji baby.” Still, the others postponed their heist. Jigen bought new plane tickets for them all, Lupin distracted him on the plane, and they flew across an ocean overnight just to make sure Zantetsuken would be returned to his hands as rapidly as possible.   
  
Goemon could tell at the time that they both were exhausted by the end. It had been far too much trouble to ask anyone to go through just for him. He would have gone alone to get his sword. It was his own sworn responsibility. He would not have asked. But they had done it without him asking for anything. They understood it was important, and what he needed. He would always cherish that memory.

  
Goemon followed Zenigata into a taxi. Jigen and Lupin usually took care of those things. Most of that was done using phones now, and the device did not sit well in the palm of a samurai. And even if it did, he would have to learn how to use it. Fumbling and drawing the mockery of those to whom technological prowess came as naturally as moving. 

He refused to look like a fool for someone else’s connivence. And thus, Goemon Ishikawa the Thirteenth would not purchase a “ _ cellular phone _ .”   
  
He let Zenigata take the lead on the address and details. Speaking up was tiring, and when he attempted to jump in first, Goemon was invariably talked over. And then forced to repeat himself. How obnoxious. It was best to wait quietly, until someone had their full attention, wanting and waiting to hear one’s words. In those cases a man will always know he is being listened to.   
  
He was well aware of Zenigata’s meager salary, and Goemon, with years of savings and little extravagance, had more than enough for many lifetimes. It seemed only fair for him to cover the fare. He readied his folded cloth wallet discreetly, and was swift to cover the cost as they exited the taxi. Zenigata had tried to offer, but Goemon had left him stammering, his own worn leather wallet in hand.   
  
Zenigata was occupied with staring around at the neighborhood and scenery, so Goemon decided to speed up the process and led the way inside. He got them the only empty spaces, up at the bar. The decor was... not very traditional. He did not like the mix of modern things with traditional flair, it felt inauthentic and most of all worried him that they might not take the ramen making process seriously enough. That it might be what they call “a modern twist on an old classic.” He attempted to temporarily suspend his judgement. He chose the ramen that sounded the most traditional: a shio ramen.   
  
The waitress who took their order had a sweet smile and elegant black hair, and Goemon couldn’t help but let a small smile creep across his face. 

_ Stop _ , his brain chided him,  _ do not allow those thoughts to distract you. _

_ Don’t be like Lupin.  _

He took in a nice, slow breath, steadying his mind. Or trying to.   
  
The waitress’ attention turned to Goemon. “Hi, what can I get for you?” 

Her eyes were enchanting. 

A lesser man might have gotten motion sickness, but Goemon was able to endure the rapid shift as he bounced his gaze away from the waitress, down to his menu.   
  
“Water please. And the shio ramen.”   
  
She then turned her warm smile to Zenigata. Her long, soft-looking hair fell over her notepad. “And for you?”    
  
When Zenigata didn’t reply in turn, Goemon sought to get his attention. He cleared his throat and nudged him lightly.   
  
Zenigata did not move, very distracted indeed. He must have been very concerned about this evening. Zenigata had accepted the invitation, which meant that he was shirking his duty, his sworn duty to catch Lupin. Goemon wondered what he might decide to do in a similar situation. He liked to confront his problems head on, and this method... well he could not call it head on.   
  
But Goemon could understand. Lupin had that effect on people. Even on him, and he had decidedly more clarity of mind. Yet he still had relented multiple times to Lupin’s sometimes humiliating requests. 

One will make concessions for the people he cares for, he supposed.   
  
Zenigata pointed to one of the items on the menu. The plastic bent under the force of Zenigata’s thick finger. Goemon could respect decisive confidence like that.

The waitress smiled and nodded. While taking the menus, one of her slender hands brushed against his, scattering his thoughts.    
  
The sudden sound of Zenigata’s voice refocused them.

“How long has it been since you last saw him?”   
  
That was a bit of a sore topic. Lupin was the sort to take any personal pledge or oath extremely seriously. He had in the past committed to months long stints in jail just to test himself, and walked directly into challenges even if it was obviously a trap. This was something he could respect, in concept, but it did hurt to be out of contact with both Lupin and Fujiko for so long. Goemon had grown accustomed to spending time with them. Taking time away when he needed, but with the comforting knowledge that he would always be able to rejoin them afterwards. Not to mention Jigen, and his particularly troubling reaction.

Hadn’t they all been family? That was what made him willing to get so close to them. To depend on them. Had Goemon misunderstood their relationships? He’d tried to content himself with the assumption that he’d misread something along the line, and left it at that.   
  
“I have not seen him since the wedding.” It was best to be honest. Even if he did not like the truth in this case.   
  
“Ahhh... I’m a bit surprised... what have you been up to?”   
  
Goemon felt his skin prickle at that reaction. Even Zenigata had assumed that they were closer. Had Lupin and Fujiko really thrown away their family so easily? Then again, it was marriage, wasn’t it? Duty first, Goemon reminded himself. If Lupin couldn’t honor his vows, he was no man at all.   
  
“Training.” 

It was a rote reply, laced with his own frustration, but not a lie. He had done other things in that time, but all of life was training for the future. Each moment could yield lessons, and every situation could be a teacher.   
  
Zenigata gave an abrasive laugh. “You know...now that I’m spending more time in Japan, I don’t think I’ve eaten ramen as much. When I leave the country it’s all I can think about... but as soon as I’m home I end up eating everything but that!”    
  
“I’m afraid I cannot relate. I have noodles often. And the broth is always best in a real ramen restaurant. Where they’ve been doing it for many years, and have perfected their craft properly. Practiced skill and artistry come through in the taste.”   
  
And this of course is true. The rest of the gang would tease him at times for his picky eating. He could suffer through a meal he did not like, but oftentimes he preferred the pain of going hungry over the discomfort of a meal he did not enjoy. Rice was easy to find in almost all countries, and he ate it often. He tried to avoid inconvenience by bringing his own food. But when he was in Japan he had carefully vetted dozens of places near his favorite training grounds. Ones where he knew the owners, where he had sat and listened to their processes and their passion for the work.    
  
Lately, with less reason to travel, he had spent time with one of these friends, who was an expert at making soba. Goemon helped with the prep work, a minor sort of apprenticeship, during which he had even helped roll and cut the noodles several times with his own blade. Perhaps this was not absolutely necessary training, but turning flour into something he could eat held plenty of value for him.   
  
Zenigata made a noise as if he understood. Goemon was grateful to be heard and, after a few quiet moments of thought, Zenigata seemed to concede to his point. Something his usual company would have rarely done, even when he was objectively correct.   
  
“I guess you’re right. Kinda funny to leave Japan, and head to Italy for your ramen.”

Zenigata laughed again, but this time it was not as loud. It was more calming, and Goemon was not as worried that this one was at his expense.    
  
The waitress returned carrying a tray with two steaming bowls. Her arm muscles strained slightly under the weight. Goemon found his eyes in all the wrong places. He put them back onto Zenigata and then, onto the bowl placed in front of him by slender, elegant fingers.   
  
Goemon was determined to turn his admiration to the food. To contemplate the glossy orange egg yolk, against the forest green scallions. The chopsticks were plastic and irksomely slippery, wrong in his hands. But he made due. He ate his fish cake first, snatching it from the broth with his chopsticks. He appreciated each ingredient individually, and chased them down one at a time, forming a perfectly sized space to skim through the soup.   
  
Before Goemon could finish his meticulous work, Zenigata hoisted his bowl and chugged the broth down. The man could really eat. Goemon could barely finish half of his own.   
  
“Please allow me to cover dinner, Inspector.” 

Goemon offered this politely, but his motives were not nearly as well-meant as they were in the taxi. The waitress. He felt a deep urge to apologize to her for staring. He paid and withdrew an extremely generous tip, folding it into a modest flower.   
  
As they got up to leave, he heard Zenigata’s voice raise, to a full Lupin-scolding decibel.

  
“Sir, it’s rude to make passes at women while they’re working!”   
  
Goemon froze. His cheeks flushed, this was extremely embarrassing, but it was true. He could not believe that after only a few months on his own, he was feeling so lonely that he would act like this. It was shameful. He was tempted to excuse himself from this evening altogether and return to training immediately. He prepared to take his well-deserved admonishment.   
  
But another voice responded to Zenigata. “What? Are you a cop?”   
  
Ah. Zenigata’s large frame menace some sleazy looking fellow. He’d been talking to someone else. But still. Goemon was equally deserving of such an accusation. It did not soothe his guilt much. 

  
“It doesn’t matter if I am, you should behave yourself.”   
  
“Whatever.” 

The man was clearly defeated before the fight had even begun. Goemon could see it in his body language.   
  
Zenigata was still animated with a righteous passion as they left the restaurant. He did not even notice the grateful glance the waitress gave him as they parted.

  
“The nerve of that guy! Work requires concentration and focus, doesn’t he understand that? You can’t have people flirting with you, winking at you while they run away, how’s someone supposed to get their job done with that kinda distraction!”

Zenigata’s anger was understandable. It must be a sore subject, considering how often Lupin teased him. Goemon knew this form of teasing well, though rarely was it used on him while he was working.

“Indeed.” Goemon replied, trying to show him both empathy and humility. 

He was justified to be upset and Goemon felt just as guilty of it, in some way he appreciated the scolding. Lupin and Fujiko had a policy against mentioning guilt or regret. It led to a frustrating lack of self reflection. Jigen seemed to be the only one who ever felt conflicted in past actions. And his way of processing those things was usually not very productive.   
  
The pair waited on the sidewalk. Goemon knew the address of the apartment and if need be, he would start walking, but as he assumed, Zenigata ordered them a car to be sure they were on time.   
  
“Goemon. Can I ask your opinion?” Zenigata’s voice shook slightly, from what Goemon decided were nerves. He could empathize.    
  
“If you wish. But I will not hold back.” 

Being honest was the only way he liked to handle questions like this. When he lied, or tried to lie, people did not believe him anyway. At least if he spoke honestly, people did not doubt his statements. People would sometimes want to hear a certain response, regardless of the truth. But Goemon tried to make it clear from the beginning that was  **not** the one to whom to look for that. If one was looking for sweet words and gracious lies, Fujiko was the one speaking with the most grace, and the sweetest lips.   
  
“It’s better if you don’t...” the inspector sounded frustrated. His hands were balled into tight fists, and when he spoke, they squeezed tighter. “...Do you think I shouldn’t have come?”   
  
Goemon took a few moments to contemplate the answer. Is this a temptation Zenigata should have resisted? Perhaps. It was dangerous in a sense, this party, and yet, when one received a summons from Lupin, it drew you in. If you knew Lupin, you knew that you were never invited unless he wanted you to be there. There. A simple, clear answer.   
  
“I think Lupin wants you to.”   
  
“I suppose you’re right. I think he does.”

Zenigata was looking down at his phone. Maybe he had not fully understood his point. But Goemon could not imagine Zenigata ever having said no in the first place.

  
“Zenigata. When Lupin sends you an invitation, have you ever failed to show up?”   
  
“Not that I remember.” Zenigata returned quickly.   
  
“You see. It’s as I said. He expects you.”   
  
The car ride was uneventful. They passed a park, and as they did, Goemon thought about that handful of trees, rooted in the soil that hid underneath all this soulless concrete.   
  
How he longed to root himself back into stable soil. A family that held fast, one that did not erode and scatter. How wrong of them to leave without a timeframe of when they might return. Even if the answer might be never.    
  
These were selfish thoughts. But he still had them.   
  
When they arrived, he approached the door with confidence, even excitement. All of them together again, even if it was only for a single night. Goemon put one of his hands down to touch the hilt of Zantetsuken. Grounding himself. Large emotional reactions were unbecoming. He must keep his face stony and tranquil.   
  
That particular rule was one of many Lupin had ceaselessly evaded. And when he opened the door, his bright tone greeted both of them. “Goemon and Pops! Sharing a cab?! Wow, have you been having fun already without us?”

Clad in a blue blazer and a smile so big that even Goemon couldn’t miss it, Lupin’s exuberance and volume drowned out the city street behind them. The sheer size of his personality was like a mountain. Impassible when an obstacle, shaping and defining the landscape around him. Those who fought against Lupin were sure to misjudge him, to fail and perish. But those who lived with him, who understood his ways, knew that he brought life. That energy came off him in waves, it revitalized and nourished the spirits of all who lived in harmony with him.

  
That didn’t, however, make Lupin’s teasing any easier to bear.

Maybe it would have been best if they had arrived separately. Goemon would likely have to hear this joke multiple times in multiple ways. It was not that it troubled him to hear, it was simply that it was not the correct reading of the situation. 

And correcting Lupin would not help the matter. 

He shut one eye, he was frustrated but tried again to find his center.

“Lupin. Good to see you.”   
  
Out of the corner of his open eye, Goemon saw the large body beside him shifting into attack mode. Goemon’s hand flew to Zantetsuken’s hilt, and his eyes locked on, waiting to meet any flashes of metal in kind.

He would slice the cuffs before Zenigata could take Lupin with him.   
  
But just as suddenly, Lupin smoothed things with a quick joke. Zenigata’s anger seemed to funnel away quickly. Goemon’s stance loosened and he let his fingers slip from Zantetsuken. Goemon had always admired that Lupin’s wit kept the master thief from most unnecessary confrontations. With years of studying him, Goemon was still nowhere near his level. It was another one of Lupin’s thoughtless cruelties, abandoning his pupil while there was still so much to learn.

  
His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet step. The muted, uncharacteristically soft sound of heels on wood. A practiced move, from a body attempting to present itself as gentle, unassuming. He looked up.

Fujiko was at the top of the stairway. 

Her smile arrested him in place for a moment. He hoped that she had missed him too. As she met his eyes, he found his own looking back down. The wedding rushed to his mind. The last time he had seen her.

Fujiko was a natural beauty, and the works she crafted from eyeliner and lipstick day after day elevated her looks to the realm of the sublime. On the morning of her wedding, Goemon had been called into her room, and was not shocked to see her once again handling her own makeup. He’d wondered, before that moment, what Fujiko stood to gain from this wedding. What score of Lupin’s she’d had her eye on. How long it would be before Jigen’s phone rang, and a petulant, heartbroken voice would whine out for a rescue from whatever debauched position she had left him in. 

But the soft contour of her eyeshadow. The prim divet of her cupid’s bow, atop lush red lips. Long, thick eyelashes. A face painted so deftly, in turns subtle and daring. A look made to appeal to Lupin. A look made in pride, highlighting what Fujiko liked about herself. Goemon did not need to see eyes shimmering or a smile beaming. Fujiko’s adoration of Lupin was plain on her face.

Fujiko had popped her veil right onto Goemon’s head, and they chatted as she, somehow still not finished, completed her makeup. Her friend Gretchen sat nearby, a stocky woman with curled brown hair that he thought he recognized. He blushed as Fujiko turned her tools to him, powdered his own cheeks, telling him he would want to look nice for the photos. Gretchen hugged her and giggled, warned her not to make Goemon look too pretty. He wouldn’t want to outshine the bride.

As though that were possible.   
  
Nevertheless he remembered her smiling. She had teased him about his lack of cellphone preventing her from sending them after making them stand around staring into the sun for multiple group shots. He still had the memory all the same. What did a phone matter?

In the present, Lupin fussed over Zenigata. Goemon’s feet moved on their own, past Lupin, up the stairs. She had always been so lovely, but the effect was stronger the longer she stayed away from him.

“Goemon, it’s been too long.”

Too long... How long is too long? What does it mean? Was it too long the moment you missed the other person’s company? Or did it have some other threshold? Some other signifier he had yet to discern? He tried to look at her clothing, her face, tried to read intent in any of them, but he was lost in her presence.

He lacked the grace to hold back, and spoke from the heart. “It is good to see you, Fujiko.”

She led him in. Looking around, the place lacked personal touches, their hallmarks of being. Lupin always had clutter around for building his next disguise or gadgetry. Fujiko left hair ties all over the tables and floor. You always knew when she had been staying with them for awhile because Jigen started collecting them up and using them for target practice. Firing the hard rubber straps at all of them off of a well aimed thumb and index finger.

This place felt brand new. Nothing was worn in, as if they had never lived inside of it. Goemon liked things to be clean, but he had a deep grudge against the new. He liked old things, things that had proved themselves resilient against time. Something that you haven’t used before was like a stranger who might betray you at any moment. Something you’d used for years was reliable, loyal, steadfast.

His preference was a temple, hundreds of years of tradition worn into the structure. But even a single year can form a shape of comfortable familiarity into a place.

There was no such form here. This place was as disconnected from his friends as when one of them put on a disguise and went into another man’s office, pretending to be him.

Fujiko led them to a room with massive windows. It was an impressive view. He could see the appeal of it, looking down on the landscape, contemplating your place in the world.

But he was doubtful that they ever took the time. They weren’t the type to meditate on their own smallness very often. Or ever.

Zenigata’s fist hit the bar hard, causing glasses to rattle in the aftershocks of the painful noise. It startled Goemon, and he gripped the handle of Zantetsuken. Zenigata had waited until Goemon’s guard had been lowered! He had bided his time, until he was deep within the walls of Lupin’s fortress! It was now that he would strike!

Until Lupin joined in, hammering his fists on the bar, chanting, laughing as he did. There was no danger. Just very loud associates. Lupin hopped onto a stool and spun, his light feet offering surprising lift. Goemon watched him spin, laughing an irritating laugh, gripping the stool with hands Goemon remembered for their incredible dexterity.

Goemon’s grip once again relaxed. Lupin was still quite hard to keep up with.

Goemon quietly positioned himself in the seat at the end of the bar. In situations like these, his preference was to let the louder personalities carry the energy of the room. He let their words wash over him. Sometimes, especially when the group was on good terms, he did not even listen to what was being said, he just liked to soak in the din of positive feelings. He would be grateful simply to be in the same room.

Fujiko, however, was the sort to take precisely what she wanted. And it seemed to be the empty seat next to Goemon. She rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. He had told her once many years ago, that if she wanted his attention, a tap on the shoulder would do. But even now, she knew how to pack her touches with enough sentiment to make any man shudder.

“We were warming some sake for you.”

Goemon’s lips curled into a tiny grin, and he accepted. When someone took time and energy specifically for you, that made it much more special. He thought about Lupin and Fujiko picking out the sake for him. One hand, then the other, turning bottles over, appraising them, musing upon memories of their favorite warrior. Talking about him. Fujiko perhaps murmuring something soft and fond. Lupin’s voice hopefully, gleefully anticipating Goemon’s approval.

Lupin began to show off, mixing drinks, and Goemon recalled the sweet taste of mimosas in Maui, while they waited for some paperwork to go through for a particularly complex scheme. Goemon had not paid attention to those details; they were entrusted to Lupin. He remained focused on his part: the potential need to slice something or someone apart at the right time.

But the time was pleasantly spent, the sun on the beach as they lounged, easy to drift off, to rest his thoughts, at home with the others. A family in all their dysfunction and complexity, trading off cooking and sharing meals. They made sure he was taken care of even if he had not spoken to them all day.

The memory receded, and with it came a chill. When he left, tonight, he would again be alone in the world.

Who might call him companion? Certainly no one in this room. Would Lupin still call him a rival? Now that he was retired, Goemon assumed he had won by default. Not an honor he could boast much about.

Goemon scolded himself for the vanity of these sorts of thoughts. In the end it would always be about Zantetsuken and himself. It was selfish of him to expect anyone to tolerate his absence whenever he decided to leave and for them to always be waiting when he returned.

The sound of the doorbell startled him out of his thoughts. It was likely Jigen, late as usual. He took things at his own pace, especially when he was- as he would be tonight- dealing with Fujiko. Those two did not get along, for reasons Goemon could understand well enough. Fujiko had double crossed them and put them in harm’s way multiple times. But that was merely Jigen’s public excuse. After all, Goemon had drawn his sword against Lupin and Jigen in the past, as well. Even during times when it shamed him to do so.

But Jigen’s true grudge was obvious, even to a man like Goemon, one not particularly observant of other people’s feelings. If Goemon had blushed once at Lupin’s words, Jigen’s meek smile had blossomed a hundred times. If Goemon had found himself in need of Lupin’s approval, Jigen’s desire had been desperate. Goemon would come home to Lupin after travelling, but Jigen had driven stakes down and settled in. Shared cigarettes, glances under the brim of his hat, inside jokes and harmless bickering, safehouse after safehouse filled with the Westerns both men loved, drunken cuddling on the couch and other sounds at one in the morning, voices they’d thought Goemon couldn’t hear.

And still, Jigen wouldn’t admit to any of it.

Daisuke Jigen was admirable. He was loyal to his friends, staunchly followed his personal code, a skilled shot, and usually very thoughtful towards others. Very protective and rarely selfish. He would, and has, taken a bullet for others, even for Fujiko. Admirable. But deeply flawed. And Goemon would not bring himself to hope that those flaws would not be on full display that night.

Lupin hopped up to get the door. He sounded excited to see him. Goemon watched him, wondering if Lupin had reacted that way when Goemon was at the door. Lupin never seemed to fully let on how he felt about them. He had spoken freely, at length, of his feelings for Fujiko. But between them he was evasive. 

Not that Goemon found himself much better at it.

“Oh that must be Jigen-chan! Be right back! Don’t start spin the bottle without me okay?!”

Goemon’s eyes followed Lupin as he left and then passed over to Fujiko. She sighed. It was the one she used whenever something wasn’t going her way. She, too, knew that things were about to get worse. Jigen could be abrasive, especially towards her, and it was highly doubtful that a year of her being married to Lupin would’ve improved their relationship. Goemon could hardly blame her for not wanting to see him.

It was her party, her home, they were guests. Goemon made a mental note to keep an eye out for her. He would make sure Jigen was on his best behavior.

Zenigata coughed, Goemon surmised he was choking on a cherry pit as he saw the stem on the side of the glass. 

“Thanks very much for having us.”

Fujiko laughed and took a drink. A drink sounded very nice. She had mentioned sake, had she not?

“Just don’t get too riled up, okay? It'll spoil our little party if you cart my husband off to jail."

“Oh! I... It’s a habit. Sorry.”

Zenigata seemed strangely embarrassed. This was by far the weakest position to take. One with conviction for their task, which Zenigata seemed to have, need not apologize for that. An apology implied he was not convinced of the action he spent well over a decade pursuing. Which is a very shameful place to be. If he was unsure, he needed only to stop at any time.

Instead, Zenigata took a large drink.

Fujiko was patient, warm toward him, sympathetic, “It's all right. A Lupin habit is quite a hard one to kick.”

But a real man resisted, or at least tried...though as Goemon thought that, he was reminded of the many times he had failed in similar ways.

He could use that sake by this point.

“You mentioned hot sake?”

“Oh Goemon, sorry, I forgot. It’s in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

Fujiko sounded genuinely apologetic for forgetting, and she slipped out of her seat, brushing against him as she did. A clumsy move on her part. Usually her movements were more planned out than that; that if she touched Goemon, she meant to ensnare him. A situation which could not be the goal tonight. Was she as distracted as he was this evening? Or was something else at play?

He’d never been able to follow those complex webs of emotional reaction, not in the way that she did. Fujiko had tried, on occasion, to explain her machinations to him, and at those times he was able to follow them. But without a preview of what to look for and when, he was always left to exist in the moment, reacting to challenges as they arose and took up weapons against him.

Zenigata was still drinking the cocktail Lupin made for him. He turned toward Goemon. “What’s your favorite kind of sake?”

Goemon had never been picky about sake, but once again, the bold-faced truth made for a poor answer, and risked ending the conversation. Goemon took a moment to think of what he liked about sake. His favorite was always seeing people with passion and adherence to hard work. Efforts one could see, or better still, taste. Dedication.

He relayed that answer to Zenigata, somewhat proud to have parried that particular social puzzle.

Zenigata shifted in his seat, thinking of something.

“I like nigori. Looks nice and goes down well with curry.”

“Hmmm. I agree."

The delicious scene washed over his senses, the picture of a rainy evening spent over a warm stove with a large pot of curry bubbling, sipping sweet sake. Curry was always best in a group, otherwise one was left with too many leftovers, and curry didn’t travel well.

Fujiko responded from the hallway, hearing their conversation, “Do you want some of this too, Zenigata?”

She entered the room carrying a heated bottle and a stack of sakazuki dishes. Goemon stood up to help. As he took them from her, he noticed that they were the ones he had given to them as a wedding present. He had tried his best to find dishes that had history, antique, but still might suit stylish people. Their taste still eluded him. 

He wondered if this was the first time they were using them.

Goemon set out the shallow dishes, and added one on the end, noting that there were more people than chairs. He wondered if he might do the polite thing and stand when Lupin returned, to be sure no one else was left without a place to sit. But at present there were enough chairs, so he settled back into the comfortable space next to Fujiko, as she finished filling their cups.

“Shall we?” 

She raised the dish to rosy, pink lips, her sparkling eyes on him. Her nails were a subtle hue, more demure than he’d seen before, but still stylishly painted. The length they added made her fingers taper so marvelously. Long fingers skilled with the piano, and with other-

Goemon moved his eyes down to his own dish.

She was married. He really needed to get it together.

Goemon pulled his sake toward his nose, smelt it, hoping to move his mind to a calmer place. It was strong enough that he could smile, and he focused on only the scent and taste.

“To your good health.” Zenigata said, tone somewhat sad.

Fujiko gave a little wink, and her tone teased. “Likewise, as long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Kanpai,” Goemon said, no longer wishing to wait. He tipped the warm liquid down his throat.

“How is it?” Fujiko asked, expectant.

It was as calming as green tea, but invigorated as only alcohol could. Through the window, the last dregs of light reflected off the city. The imposing shadows stretched long into the distance.

“It is exquisite.” Goemon was not sure if it was the best he’d had, but it was at least close. “And the sunset from this window is beautiful.”

“Are you wondering what it might look like from the roof?” Fujiko’s reply was draped with her usual playfulness.

“I was not, but it sounds very good. Perhaps I shall climb up one day.”

Fujiko and Zenigata both laughed at this. Goemon was not being intentionally funny, but in the moment, he did not mind. It was only a bad thing when he wanted to be taken seriously. 

Lupin rejoined them, and as expected, Jigen had arrived. Goemon stared at the late arrival, doing his best to rapidly appraise his condition, before being spotted.

Jigen Daisuke had not been well. But if Goemon could strike from his mind thoughts of airport noise or cute waitresses, then his mind would work twice as hard to split, to deflect, to destroy any of the images that were surfacing now. He would not think about the Jigen of the past year. He would not think about the state he had been in. He would not.

The Jigen before him seemed to have eaten in the past day. The smell of whiskey was strong enough to make it past the sake in Goemon’s hand, but it was not muddled with month-old sweat. Jigen’s shoes were even polished. From this angle he could see his eyes were swollen and red, but if Jigen had had the energy to cry before arriving, then he had the energy to make it through the evening.

It was better than the last time Goemon had seen him. And beyond that, Jigen was making an effort. It would be patronizing to say so in front of the others. But Goemon was proud. 

Not that it would be easy to tell him, even when alone. They both had trouble talking about what was on their mind. Jigen was defensive, and Goemon was not a good communicator. To draw out their feelings about this year, to leave them both feeling vulnerable? It was not something they had practiced, so at best, it was stilted and imperfect.

Jigen remarked upon Zenigata’s attendance, and when he addressed Fujiko, Goemon noticed something strange in her face that he tried unsuccessfully to parse.

“Ah yeah. Happy anniversary to you.”

Jigen’s tone was flat, but Goemon thought he could hear sincerity. Was this all that Jigen could muster in his current state of mind? Or was it the bitter first jab of the evening? Fujiko seemed to take it as the latter, because she stood up, and slid her arms around Lupin. The overtly seductive gesture wasn’t a new trick. She’d used it in the past to tease plenty of men, Lupin key among them. Goemon had lost count of the number of covers Lupin had nearly broken, fuming as Fujiko clung to various unworthy targets.

It had made Goemon fume in the past, as well. He knew how Fujiko really felt about sex. And how degrading it must have been, to play airy and stupid, luring targets in by making them think they’d outsmarted you. That they’d won something precious, the right to take something from you. 

But the action looked different when Lupin was the recipient. Whatever Lupin had been talking about, the words fled his lips, and the thoughts drained out of his mind. Fujiko didn’t need to play stupid, when Lupin could bring out enough real stupidity for everyone. Lupin’s body stayed upright enough to support them both, but his empty head tilted back against her chest. Such a lustful expression should have been disgusting, but here, it bordered on innocence itself. Lupin was defanged in Fujiko’s arms. For all his big talk, for all his promises to launch himself into Fujiko’s bed, the real nature of their bedroom dynamic had been spread out, by Fujiko, in front of them all.

Lupin, harmless, sweet, and devoted, in Fujiko’s smirking arms.

Goemon gulped. He was not sure if wife or husband was luckier, but he was sure that he could drown out this fresh set of impure thoughts by reaching for the sake bottle and quietly pouring himself another small dish full.

Jigen sunk down in Fujiko’s former place next to him. Fujiko’s trick might have set Goemon’s heart racing, but it had clearly had the opposite reaction for Lupin’s other former lover.

“Thanks for coming, Jigen. How long has it been?” Fujiko’s words were perfectly innocent, but the hands circling Lupin’s shoulders were not. She planted a light kiss on the side of Lupin’s head. One that Goemon might have described as ‘chaste,’ were it not for Fujiko’s entire demeanor.

Jigen showed defeat by his stance, turning away from the happy couple, lowering his elbows onto the countertop. Goemon could read the resignation in his voice. Jigen wasn’t planning to pick a fight.

“A while.”

When Lupin dutifully returned Fujiko’s drink, he took the chance to rub himself closer, and brushed his cheek up against hers.

Lupin's voice sounded dreamy as he turned at least some of his attention to Goemon. “How’s the sake, Goemon? I got the right stuff, right?”

Goemon did not like to repeat himself, but it was only fair to share the praise between them both. And he did feel a spark of joy. Lupin  _ had  _ taken the time to think of him.

“Indeed. It is excellent.”

Jigen raised his hand, a supposedly casual gesture that doubtless took all his energy. “Let’s have another round, then.” 

Jigen was probably doing his best. Maybe he would have enough restraint to just enjoy the night with them as best he could.

They shared multiple rounds, finally all together again. Lupin carried the room with his charm, talked about a trip he and Fujiko had taken. Fujiko backed him up, added to the story, and Jigen even managed a few half hearted replies. Goemon absorbed the warmth of companionship just the same as the warm sake. He could feel the tingling blur hazing the sharp edges of his thoughts.

Even as Lupin started to tease Zenigata and argue with him, the atmosphere all felt so familiar, like a bout of deja vu consuming him. Lupin sat on the bartop. They all fit the space so well.

He could recall countless drunken evenings, ones where he, Jigen and Lupin celebrated a tidy score. Nights where they acted irresponsibly, getting expensive food delivered, making the delivery person join them for a bit, and then rewarding them with an absolutely absurd gratuity. They stayed up late playing cards and gambling. Lupin always won, unless Jigen pulled out a new cheat for the occasion. Jigen didn’t have Lupin’s natural flair for cheating at cards, but when he pulled one over on the master thief, Jigen’s loud guffaw and knee-slapping were a symphony. They’d carry on, half awake on into morning when they might collapse in a tired heap all in the same room...

It took some time for Goemon to feel comfortable being physically close to them, but Lupin was the sort of man whose sincerity and earnest affection could melt even the firmest heart. They never really called it anything, just a lot of adrenaline and a heaping helping of near death emotional bonding. They were close, that was all he would call it.

Though sometimes he wished he did know what to call it.

Zenigata started to tell them about his recent exploits. How he’d taken himself off the Lupin case, and was working on something about smuggling.

Goemon found laws, borders and things of that nature to be almost universally not worth learning about or caring about. Everyone in the gang generally shared this sentiment. These sorts of rules were a method of stifling freedom and holding people back. The gang followed personal codes and made judgment calls, and overall, only held others to their own personal standards of what was right and wrong.

Zenigata’s world operated on something far more complex. Not superior, but more. Goemon scoffed to imagine taking a single step over a fake boundary, moving from one country to another, and having to perform a whole new set of procedures just because you were on one side of an imaginary line and not on another. A baffling waste of time, but he imagined that Zenigata must spend countless hours within that labyrinth, trying to navigate it just right, in order to end his duel with Lupin on his own terms.

Or at least, that was once the case. Now he was using these skills to go after something else. Smugglers, apparently.

“I was in a ditch dodgin’ artillery shells. Had to pull the old dummy corpse trick to throw 'em off.”

“You win some, you lose some." Jigen was charitable about failure. Though only in others. They all shared that quality, too. None of them would deem to accept failure gracefully in themselves...

“At least you’re still alive and kickin’."

Zenigata’s pride was evident in his reply, “Oh, I got ‘em. Took down the whole ring. Which of course didn’t improve my popularity back at the office. A few upper management guys were hopin’ this would be the one that finally did me in. 'Cuz it turns out they were involved in some of the permits. Thought it might be a convenient place to end my career.”

Goemon could admire this sort of courage. It was still much better to be committed to the rules you claim to follow, even if they were disagreeable, rather than demanding them of others when you ignored them for yourself.

Lupin laughed very enthusiastically at this, “You sure love painting a target on your back! Even more than I do, huh, Pops?”

Zenigata sounded very pleased with himself, “They’re findin’ out slowly what you already know. I’m hard to get rid of.”  
  
“Admirably persistent.” Goemon did not mind complimenting this particular aspect of the Inspector. He had faced down many of the same dangers as the rest of them had, been shot at, thrown from incredible heights, bombed, starved, and more. Zenigata certainly had the ability to bend with the breeze. Or even the hurricane.  
  
“And harder to kill than a damn cockroach,” Jigen added with a surprising amount of affection.  
  
Zenigata laughed. “Heh heh heh, don’t you criminals ever forget it!”  
  
Rude, but it was token by this point. Even though Lupin was far more kind-hearted than many who operated within the law, Zenigata seemed obsessed with vilifying him. The Inspector should have been grateful. It was at Lupin’s behest that Goemon and Jigen worked with less lethal methods. When they worked without him, they were much more likely to leave a corpse, rather than a future enemy.  
  
“Lupin, you should make your good friend Zenigata another drink,” Fujiko was quite an attentive host. Goemon had not even noticed Zenigata’s empty glass.   
  
Zenigata bristled. “We’re not friends!” 

Zenigata was as defensive as Jigen. What was it about labels? There are some things he would never deem to be called in relation to Lupin. But ally, friend, companion? None of those would bother Goemon. Lupin only called one person his partner, and it certainly was not him.

Not that Goemon was demanding it...  
  
“Awww, come on now Pops, can’t you just say we’re friends?! That’s why you’re here isn’t it? Aren’t you all my friends?”  


Lupin’s whining grew in volume. The pleading tone was a disguise. These weren’t pleas, they were a threat of an imminent tantrum, if someone didn’t concede and agree. It wouldn’t take much to stave it and save this evening, but something about it left a sour taste in Goemon’s mouth. He didn’t want to indulge Lupin on this today.   
  
What sort of friends were they, when Goemon might be left behind at any moment? Only summoned when someone needed a sharp blade. And if he was the only man for a job, Goemon could bear that. It meant something to be the best. But had they not needed him for anything? Even just to talk? How could Lupin speak of friendship, when to him, Goemon was nothing more than a knife shoved in the back of the kitchen drawer and forgotten?

  
He glanced at Fujiko. She was watching Lupin with what he assumed must be pity. It was a harsh silence, but Lupin had earned it.  
  
“So cold. So cold! And I even got you guys the expensive alcohol!” Lupin brushed it off, and directed a happy tone at Goemon. “So how about you, Goemon! Any new techniques? You must have gotten something good done in all that training time.”  
  
Goemon felt a bit guilty now that he could hear the pain. To bully Lupin sometimes felt like fighting a child. You could win but you never felt good about it.

  
“I have been focused on a difficult technique. A way of moving that allows a man to slip between two opponents and disarm them.”   
  
He had been focused on it, somewhat. Not nearly as focused as he would like. He made the most progress when he had real, skilled opponents that actually intended to harm him. And even more progress when his mind was not distracted by emotional distress.

“Sounds pretty useful,” Lupin's voice was bright and cheery.

Goemon was jealous of anyone who could even pretend to be in a good mood after being insulted. He just can never manage to do much beyond controlling his urge to draw his blade in that circumstance.  
  
“Oh it was,” Jigen seemed to be in better spirits. “Goemon and I did a few... weeks. In meditation. In the mountains.”  
  


Several months ago, Goemon’s patience with Jigen had snapped. During a routine phone call, his comrade’s speech was so slurred, it lapsed into incoherence. They all had irresponsible streaks, but Jigen was getting far too old to be acting like that. Despite his best attempts to remain unflappable, Goemon’s heart ached at the thought of him dying so ignobly. Something had to be done, and so Goemon invited Jigen to come train with him.   
  
Jigen came when he asked him to. Goemon had expected complaints, and sharp remarks. But Jigen acquiesced almost immediately, and took the next flight. 

The mess that showed up on Goemon’s doorstep was less man, and more creature than he’d seen in a long time. His hair was matted and long under his fedora. His irises were human, but the sclera were bloodshot, and bags hung heavy underneath them. Jigen had always been a languid man, but he moved as though through water, sluggish, his thoughts trailing even farther behind. 

And of course, the ripe odor of drink permeated yards away from the poor man.

Mysterious monsters and curses were a fact of life for Goemon, and for the first few days, his mind strayed to the most obscure legends he knew, wondering if any of them might be a diagnosis for Jigen’s current condition. Tales of men spirited away to undersea or ethereal domains, who aged rapidly, who faded into nothing, when parted from their supernal captors. Had Jigen been cursed in this manner?

But he had not needed to think on it so hard. The curse was a common one. But not an easy one to break.

Goemon took him out camping near a waterfall, and they spent some days mostly in silence. They spoke only in short sentences, communicating only what was necessary. Jigen would lay around in the grass. But little by little, he began to fish. To cook dinner. Goemon could admit it was beneficial having someone else do the cooking and minor upkeep. He could stay focused even longer. As much as he did not wish to tell anyone, it was also helpful for his focus knowing Jigen was safe.    
  
Those weeks were his most productive.

Jigen nudged Goemon from his reverie. “Right, Goemon?”  
  
Goemon looked down at his sake, and replied in the affirmative. Yes. They had.  
  
Fujiko was quick to refill Goemon's drink. She seemed eager to dislodge some added detail that she knew he was keeping. 

“Come on, now. What did you really do? Zenigata’s not gonna do anything to you, you’re not Lupin.”   
  
Zenigata was not the reason for his silence.   
  
His hesitation to share came from a later portion of this visit. Jigen had brought some cigarettes that were filled with marijuana instead of their usual tobacco, and he convinced Goemon to join him. The two spent several hours doing things that he really was not interested in sharing with anyone else. Jigen had dared him to use Zantetsuken for things not worthy of the blade in the slightest. And yet he had willingly, enthusiastically done them.   
  
But... he had to concede, there was something valuable in the experience. Jigen’s calming grin and the ease of his laughter, not being dragged around by the regrets he constantly seemed to dwell on, felt like warm sunshine. For once, Jigen’s guard was down enough to lower his head and lean on Goemon’s shoulder. How wide the sky felt above them, the rustling of the leaves in the wind was mesmerizing.   
  
With his face close, Goemon had wrapped an arm around to bring him closer. Both of them blanketed with the syrupy overlay of a pleasant high, they held each other for what felt like days. They fell back on the mossy ground, Jigen’s lazy head rested on his chest, and Goemon kept one arm over the lanky gunman. It felt incredible and his mind, and even his mouth, was free to think and talk about things he’d never thought to before.   
  
Of how Zantetsuken sometimes felt so deeply part of him that he worried if he lost the sword he might be a completely different person. Jigen said he could understand that, that his magnum was like that as well. 

They talked about their past, about becoming assassins. How much they appreciated each other’s company. They talked about their fears. Goemon even admitted his irrational fear of hot water, how he still could not shake his childhood terror of watching the story of his namesake, play after play and tale after all, each an inexorable, immutable march toward the grisly end, where he was boiled alive.

He’d always preferred cold showers.   
  
They both laughed. Jigen told him that he wasn’t afraid of anything anymore. That the thing he feared most had already happened. Lupin finally got bored of him. Now he was immune to all fear. They both knew this was a lie but the curse seemed lifted. Or if not lifted, then abated, for now. Far away. Jigen laughed until he cried. And then cried more.   
  
It was not an experience he regretted. But it was for the better if Fujiko never heard it. She would abuse the knowledge. Lupin might too. This memory was not theirs to sully.

A pointless argument had popped up around Goemon, but Jigen finally seemed to have calmed the group down, “If you promise not to be a narc, Pops, I’ll tell you.”  
  
What? Jigen couldn’t be about to-  
  
“Well. Some guy hired Goemon and me to protect a vault.”  
  
Goemon let out a sigh of relief. Ah yes. That. He had almost forgotten they had done other things. He felt a pang of guilt for having doubted Jigen’s discretion.

  
“That was wild. Some days we had these huge groups of guys trying to break in, and then some days it was nothing. We got bored half the time. And then creative the other half.”   
  
Creative was an interesting way to word it. It lacked the intimacy of the mountains, but having a job was good for Goemon’s health, and the final step towards normalcy that Jigen needed. When they were bored, they played cards, or had fancy dinners at the whim of their very rich employer.

  
There were a few nights that Jigen slunk off to see the man, a petty warlord type with ambitions to rule a country. He seemed to favor Jigen’s company. Both probably assumed Goemon hadn’t noticed. Jigen seemed to not want to talk about it. So they did not talk about it.   
  
Jigen gestured with his cigarette, “And then he tried to stiff us, so we took all of the jewels in there at the end. You should’ve seen Goemon’s face.”   
  
It seemed like something people would have learned not to do, but greedy people always pushed their luck. Why, they must have thought, pay for a job at all? Dead men didn’t require a salary.

It was a lesson that he’d taught before, and would no doubt have to teach other employers, in the future: you pay, because they are not yet dead. And underestimating them in such a manner would be a grave, grave miscalculation. Goemon would have been content to just give a show of strength and take what they were owed, but Jigen skipped negotiations, and took the shot. Goemon was startled, but not in the least remorseful. The world would not miss a man like that, there were plenty like him.   
  
“Gonna share any of that score with us, Jigen?" Fujiko teased. 

Or maybe she was not joking? Fujiko was always very direct about wanting a cut. It mattered not whether she had helped them, or actively hindered them. She always helped herself to whatever was there.   
  
To Goemon’s great shock, Jigen laughed. “Why the hell not? You and Lupin were always the ones with good fencing contacts.”

Lupin’s mouth sputtered out a barely audible, “Uhhhhhhhh..?”

Jigen’s teeth flashed, a broad view under the brim of his hat. “I just have a big pile of rubies back at my place. Whatdya say. 70/30? That was your usual shtick right?”

And Fujiko remained silent, her expression indecipherable.

As though suddenly remembering something, Jigen snapped his fingers. “Shoot, I forgot! You’re outta the business now, aren’t you?”   
  
Fujiko did not have time to reply, mostly because Zenigata got there first. Speaking over and not even listening to Jigen, he began to shout.

“That’s enough of that! No illegal activities at this party!”   
  
Lupin’s sly and prideful tone dripped in every word, “It’s MY party, Pops! It seems like I should get to make the rules. And right now I wanna drink!”   
  
Goemon agreed. He also wanted to drink. He attempted a joke, perhaps to get Zenigata to stop being so obsessed with pointless rules. 

“I did not know it was illegal to drink in Italy.”  
  
No one laughed.  
  
Fujiko retrieved a fresh glass and handed it to Lupin, flirting with him as she set one out for Jigen and Goemon.  
  
“What can I fill it with?” She murmured.

  
“You can pick, I know I’ll like whatever you choose, Fujicakes.”  
  
Jigen broke in. He rolled his knuckles on the bar making a pleasant rhythmic noise.  
  
“What about what I like? Lupin, you're bragging about the booze, but this stuff is all shit. Cheap whiskey. Cruddy bourbon. Do you even have a bottle of rum? What kind of bar doesn't have the bare essentials?”  
  
Lupin gave an exasperated sigh, but couldn’t hide a grin on the end of it, like a man pretending to be annoyed by something charming. He and Jigen interacted that way often. Or at least they had used to.  
  
“Can't drink in a comfy little bar? Do you even like rum?"  
  
Jigen gave him a dismissive half-laugh, half-cough. “Maybe I'm in the mood for it. Or a half-dozen of the other things you don't have."  
  
"So picky Jigen-chan. FINE. There’s a liquor store two blocks up.”  
  
It was unlike Lupin to be under-prepared. It was more like him to be extravagantly over-prepared, never satisfied to have less than the most elaborate setup. Had he grown complacent in his retirement?

  
Lupin stood up, delighted at the excuse to be on his feet. He never did like to sit still for very long.  
  
“Do you have to go?” Fujiko used her baby voice, but Goemon thought he heard a hint of sincerity.  
  
“Keep that cute face right there, I’ll be back for the drink before you can miss me!” He kissed her and headed for the door.  
  
“I miss you already.” Still that cutesy tone in her voice. Goemon must admit it had sometimes worked on him too. 

But on Lupin, it rarely failed.  
  
“Oh, in that case!” He returned to her side to steal a second kiss. And just like that, Lupin’s excursion out was over before it started-

Oh. A quick peck on the cheek, then he wriggled out of her arms, and sprang out the door. Lupin hadn’t given an excuse or so much as a wave, neatly escaping from Fujiko.

There was something in her expression as she watched him leave. Goemon wished he could comfort her, to let her turn those flirting words over to him instead, but remembered with a pang that it would be improper to overstep his boundaries.

“More sake please,” he said as he lifted his dish. He was unsure that this was the best way to handle it, but it was better than nothing.

Fujiko’s mood seemed to right itself. There were no affectionate words, but her eyes locked onto his. She poured Goemon another small dish full and he tipped it into his mouth, trying a small smile back. However, he did not enjoy looking people in the eye for too long, so after a brief moment of eye contact with her lovely brown eyes, he stared at the glossy bartop again with heat in his cheeks.   
  
They all drank a bit more in the quiet moment. Goemon was at ease in this, but he knew many people were not. He was thankful to have the time for contemplation. He wondered what Fujiko was thinking right now. 

  
“Hey Fujiko,” Jigen began, with about as much grace as his clunky voice could manage, “sorry I made him go out.”

  
“It was his choice." She sounded a bit angry.

  
Jigen stared at his sake dish. His eyes were hidden, and his tone was so quiet, Goemon nearly didn’t hear him speak. Comprehension seemed to dawn on him.

“It was.”  
  
“We all know nothing can change his mind once Lupin has made a decision.” Goemon ventured, he tried to help them make peace with the situation.   
  


“He’s that kinda idiot...” Zenigata chuckled, warm fondness in his gruff voice. 

Goemon looked over at him. Zenigata’s cheeks were flushed, maybe only from excessive drink. But he spoke warmly, tenderly.

  
It is not as if Lupin and Jigen had not joked about it. But they joked about a lot of things. For the first time Goemon wondered if maybe it was true. Goemon was the last to realize things like this, and if he said it aloud, the rest of them would just say something about how obvious it had been all along. Goemon scrunched his nose in frustration at the thought.   
  
So. Even Zenigata was not immune to Lupin’s charm. All this chasing, it was not just for dedication to a job. It was also dedication to a person he wanted to get close to. And in that moment, he pitied Zenigata.   
  
“I miss chasing him.”

Goemon tensed as he heard it. The words that none of them were allowed to say. What would be accomplished by admitting it? That Goemon wanted the return of their old ways? That Jigen wanted Lupin’s companionship back? How could he be so selfish to say that, right in front of Fujiko? The weakness, the arrogance!

However, Goemon’s admiration for Zenigata filled his chest, and he could not understand why.

Fujiko replied warmly, with a laugh mixed into the words. “I know what you mean,” 

But that was Fujiko. Gentle and gracious.

  
“Can't speak for our idiot pal, but I missed you, ya big lug.”

Jigen was leaning close to Zenigata. Was this him flirting with Zenigata? Anything was possible tonight, and Goemon was running out of energy for surprises.

“Wuh, really?” Zenigata’s reactions were always very large, but he sounded as if he was about to start crying.

“Yeah, of course. You can come chase me around any time, if it helps.”

Jigen’s tone was as earnest as he ever got. Goemon could tell he meant that. He imagined Zenigata chasing down just Jigen, or Jigen and himself. It was not strange to conjure, they had been chased by Zenigata before. 

Though it was very hard to picture Zenigata having the same zeal for it if he was not shouting Lupin’s name loudly.

After some consideration, Goemon responded. “I would rather you did not chase me. I find your chases to be somewhat irritating.”

“Agreed. I would prefer to do all my dirty deeds without getting caught."

Fujiko had a wonderfully devious smile when she said it, and Goemon felt himself grin.

Goemon could hear the click of the lighter and the sound of Jigen speaking from the side of his mouth. “I can’t say I’m that exciting to chase. Not nearly as exciting as Lupin.” 

He might be nervous. He was cautious with affection and often lit a cigarette to calm down. Thus he smoked many cigarettes.

Fukijo took a moment, settling in on the bar with a drink of her own. One of her arms was pulled in close to her chest, and she looked coiled up, like a viper, waiting to strike.

And then, she did, speaking coolly. “You could probably just walk from bar to bar 'til you find him.” 

Goemon did his best to keep up. Had Fujiko been more upset about Lupin leaving than he’d thought?

  
Jigen laughed. “Harsh but fair.”

He was...fine? No, Jigen paused to reposition his cigarette, and as his head tilted up, there was an ugly sneer on his face. “But if you wanna know where to find Fujiko Mine, you can always-"   
  
There it was. Jigen’s behavior had been remarkably good all evening. But any man can only bend so far, and Jigen was brittle stone. It was inevitable that he would snap, but the fallout was not a foregone conclusion.

These social moves Goemon could read in advance. This was a sparring match he’d seen countless times, and it would end in Jigen leaving early. But without a Lupin to return to, Goemon could not be sure what would happen to Jigen afterward.

And though Fujiko acted like his words never phased her, Jigen was better than he knew at hurting her feelings. This is where Lupin would jump in. He would balance these two forces. He would set things right?

Goemon looked over to Lupin’s empty chair. No. Goemon was starting to get used to managing without.   
  
He did what came to his mind the fastest. He drew Zantetsuken and with a click, was on his feet. The sword always knew what to do, Jigen’s cigarette was no match for a cut too fast for their eyes. The fallen tip still burned, leaving a dusting of ash on the bartop.   
  
It was not Goemon’s best idea ever, but he could not be too hard on himself. He had done well with what he had.

Until he looked up. Zenigata, Jigen, and even Fujiko, were staring back, confused and at least slightly frightened.   
  
He could not blame them, he had tried at least once to kill each of them, but it still felt slightly hurtful. There was a time, long in the past, where he had prided himself on the fact that he would be able to. He had hoped that time would stay in the past, they were companions, ones who needed each other, like they had a duty to each other. But when that connection crumbled away with distance and time, he wondered if there might be a time he was asked to kill one of them and he would say yes.    
  
Jigen had drawn his magnum, and he could not help but notice how Jigen put himself in the way. He was protective, even to strangers. Even to Fujiko when she had just betrayed them, or made him angry. He would take a lethal blow for anyone in danger.

Lupin once, when he was quite angry, said that maybe, Jigen was just hoping for a chance to.   
“Easy there! What’s happening, Goemon?” Jigen’s voice cut through his memory.   
  
He bowed his head to show he was sorry for the ill-advised solution, “I apologize. It is nothing.”

Jigen was obviously over it in an instant, the sign of a man who had had weapons drawn on him many times. His ridiculous yet familiar laugh was calming.

“Scared the hell out of me, man!”   
  
Fujiko’s tone was curt and loud. “I’m cutting you both off if you even THINK of pointing those at me!”

Goemon bowed his head low. “I am truly sorry.”

And yet, as he sheathed the blade, he thought that maybe, he was not that sorry. Everyone laughed. Jigen and Fujiko began teaming up to insult him, which meant they would not be insulting each other. It seemed to have achieved the desired effect. Time passed in a distorted stream. Fujiko did not make good on her threat to cut them off.   
  
Zenigata eventually stood up, wobbling slightly as he did, “I’m startin’ to worry about Lupin.”   
  
“Oh. Starting.” Fujiko mocked.   
  
“Yeah, like he hasn’t been thinking about him the entire damn time.”

Jigen remained in step with her, and Goemon wondered how long Zenigata would last without shouting if he was the one drawing their dual mockery.   
  
“I’ll prove it to you...” Zenigata muttered to himself, and swayed dangerously on his way across the room.

Five large steps, and one missed step, and the drunkard was on his way to the floor.   
  
Goemon was in no position to catch Zenigata, but Lupin returned just in time to. Lupin rolled the bags full of alcohol to Goemon’s side, and Goemon’s hands obeyed the wordless command, scooping them up.

  
Zenigata must not have been an easy man to catch, but Lupin covered up any difficulty with new jokes, and helped Zenigata back up into his seat.  
  
Lupin spoke with pep, and motioned toward the bottles. “Got your rum, Jigen. In the bag.” 

Maybe helping Zenigata had cheered him up. Such a nick-of-time rescue was in his idiom. Goemon could hardly blame him. Nothing was more exciting than waiting until the very last moment.  
  
Jigen dug into the bag and retrieved a cheap looking bottle of rum, uncapped it and drank straight from the bottle. Goemon shut one eye. This was slightly embarrassing to watch. But he did not want to be called a “buzzkill.” He didn’t exactly know what the word meant, which made it still more humiliating to be called it.  
  
Lupin took a seat next to Zenigata. “Geheheh Pops, I can tell you missed me!”  
  
Zenigata tried to deny, as though the rest of the group hadn’t heard his words earlier. “I didn’t miss you.”  
  
“Too bad Zenigata, Fujiko’s got him.” Jigen patted his back. “Here, this’ll help sober you up, old man.”

Jigen popped a cigarette into his mouth. Before Zenigata could pull it away, Jigen’s lighter was already there. Zenigata huffed in two practiced breaths, and the smoke flowed freely.

Jigen turned his attention to Goemon, another cigarette in hand. “You too Goemon. No more randomly trying to kill us okay?”  
  
Jigen mussed his hair. The sensation was unpleasant, but Goemon could put up with it, for the intention. He’d decipered this gesture long ago. Jigen was saying he had noticed him. Jigen wanted to touch him without being too ostentatious.  
  
“I’ll do my best.”

Goemon was a bit embarrassed to be focused on like this. He was smiling in spite of himself, and probably red in the cheeks. He withdrew himself slightly but even as he did, Jigen slipped the cigarette into his mouth.

Jigen had to get close to light Goemon’s cigarette, and Goemon could see under his brim. Jigen’s face was thin, cheekbones jutting out of the sides of his weary face, beard a tangle all the way up to his ears. Everything sharp angles and masculine ridges. But his eyes were soft, with an effeminate touch that Goemon knew Jigen hated. Lupin’s eyes might have been the most wildly expressive of the bunch, but Jigen’s always spoke to a depth of emotion. Whatever expression they held, they were followed by several asterisks.

Jigen might be glad. But at the same time tired.

Jigen might be relieved. But at the same time anxious.

Jigen might be exasperated with Lupin’s antics. But at the same time, longing to reach his arms around the man.

Goemon had no difficulty reading those eyes. And if they were that clear to him, then they must have been an open book to people like Fujiko. Jigen needed the hat. A bulletproof vest might protect his physical heart, but the real one needed more metaphorical armor.

And as Jigen lit his cigarette, Goemon saw something smug, something triumphant in them. A hope that hadn’t been there in months.

Then he looked up. Their eyes met for just a moment. Jigen hated eye contact as much as Goemon did, and so neither would hold it long, out of both personal preference, and respect for the other. But in that moment, the lighter flame flickered in Jigen’s eyes, and Goemon could have sworn he was smelling a heavier leaf than tobacco.

That was the only other time he’d seen that same grateful, trusting look in Jigen’s eyes. Jigen was here tonight because of Goemon. This year could have swallowed Jigen whole. Perhaps Jigen had been hoping it would. But no more. Life was returning to the man. 

The curse was lifted.

  
Jigen sat back in his chair, and Goemon sucked in. It was a filthy habit, but that didn’t seem to matter much right now. He’d inhaled mountain air with less purity of spirit.

It hurt to realize he might not regain what he used to have with his friends, but they still wanted his company.

Things changed. It was the way of the world.

But Goemon Ishikawa the Thirteenth could hold onto what was important. Like his traditional clothes, he might be mocked for them but it was his decision to put them on when he got up in the morning. He was not powerless in the process.   
  
He breathed out a haze of smoke, Fujiko was flirting gently with Lupin, and he was, of course, flirting back.

Some things never changed.  
  
Zenigata gave a lengthy toast. It reminded him of the wedding, where he quietly sat holding Zantetsuken with his arms folded around it protectively after Lupin joked about using it to cut the cake. Lupin danced madly with Fujiko, swooping around, his energy at a manic high as he cheered on Goemon to give them a toast.  
  
Goemon looked over at him now, he was grinning broadly, Zenigata’s arm was around Lupin’s shoulder and Lupin was looking intently at Fujiko. But she had turned away from him, gazing out the enormous windows. He could not see her expression in the reflection.  
  
Fujiko offered to go get some snacks, and Lupin chipped out an assent. She nodded, and headed into the hallway, without any other words.

Something seemed off.   
  
Zenigata rose from his chair yet again, still uneasy on his feet. It seemed to Goemon to be quite the accomplishment that he was still upright at all.

“Which way is your bathroom?”

The Inspector seemed pleased with himself, maybe he was planning something. This tone was similar to one when he was about to reveal some kind of twist in his plan. It was hard to tell, because Zenigata did not seem well equipped to handle a complex scheme at this moment.  
  
Lupin sang out a careless response. “Up the hallway and to the right!” Obviously he was not much concerned about it.  
  
“I will keep an eye on him.”

This was...not a falsehood. But Goemon had noticed Fujiko’s move to leave. And while he couldn’t be sure, he had a hunch, he had to check.

He followed Zenigata’s lumbering steps into the hallway. He did not have to be very careful. Zenigata in this state was lucky to be able to see objects directly in front of him. He stopped to stare at the paintings in the hallway. The drunken inspector posed no real threat, and Lupin was surely not stupid enough to leave anything important or incriminating just laying in the open.

Goemon’s whisper-silent movements were, as with all his talents, wasted on a worthless opponent. He slipped past the detective and into the kitchen on the opposite side of the hallway.   
  
The kitchen was larger than that of most restaurants. Fujiko was a strangely small figure, alone, sitting on the granite kitchen countertop. She had removed her shoes, and kicked her bare feet idly, smoking a cigarette. Hers were a different brand than Jigen’s, and held memories of their own.

Years ago, he had spent a few days with her after a stressful job. She had shown up without warning and dragged him off to a ryokan up north. The weather was cold, and the hot springs made him somewhat anxious. She spent the weekend wearing only a kimono. She tied it very poorly, and it gave him trouble with where his eyes went.   
  
When the two of them were lying next to each other on the futon, committing the terrible disrespect of smoking, she had mentioned how tired she was. Tired of feeling like she could never trust anyone. This struck him as odd at the time, since she seemed to always be actively working to break any trust that people gave her. He questioned her about why. He had told her that trusting someone was a personal choice, it was internal, not external. She had responded by turning over and pinning him to the soft mattress, making him lose focus on the conversation entirely.

She flicked her cigarette into the sink when he came in, voice syrupy, and smug.   
  
“Goemon, there’s no more sake in here, especially if you’re going to pull out weapons in the middle of the house. You should know better.”   
  
“Mmm.” Goemon replied, quite sure that this was some kind of diversion.    
  
“Fujiko. Is something wrong?”   
  
She didn’t say anything for a few moments. Pulling a knee to her ample chest, she shook her head.   
  
“Nothing.”   
  
Goemon eyed her, suspicions piqued. He was fairly certain that there was something wrong. Was it to be another guessing game? Lupin and Jigen could be left to their own macho ideas of stony emotional silence. If something was frustrating them, they would explode, and all would be made clear.

But Fujiko would stew. Worries slipped through Lupin’s head. But they rotted in hers. It might be overstepping, but Goemon could take the silence between them no longer.

He pushed.

  
“You seem angry.”   
  
“It’s fine.”   
  
“So you ARE angry but it’s fine?” He tried for clarification.   
  
“No. Everything is fine. Jigen and Zenigata are behaving, Lupin is happy with his party, everything is fine.”   
  
“It is your party as well. Are you unhappy with some aspect of it?”   
  
Some of her frustration escaped her emotional seal. She didn’t yell, but her tone was sharp.

“I said I was  _ fine _ .”   
  
Goemon shut one eye. “I apologize for assuming.” He did not intend to sound sarcastic, but his apology was too forced to ring true.

With most people, he would have stopped long ago. Especially with a lady. When a woman says no, any honorable man will cease attempting to converse with them.

But Fujiko was a friend. And friends have a set of rules that do not apply to anyone else. Friends have exceptions. Expectations. And Fujiko expected to be chased. Fujiko would not open up without effort. She said “no” when she sometimes meant “further, you coward,” and sometimes “yes,” when she meant “you disgust me.”

It was dangerous, so dangerous, and Goemon could not take much of it from her, not before his own frustrations boiled over. He wanted her to speak plainly, so that he could give her what she wanted. But her weapon was her words and this maze of intentions, and this was where she kept herself hidden and safe.

He had to continue. He had to risk hurting her feelings, and his own. If he walked away now, there would be nothing between them for who knew how long, another year of silence, a forever without talking.

He took a steady breath in. “I am sure that you can handle anything by yourself. You do not need me. But I wanted to offer.”   
  
“You idiot.” 

She clicked her tongue, chided him, brushed him off.   
  
“My apologies.” He said curtly. Still not meaning it.   
  
She said nothing.

He said nothing.

Her legs swung gently back and forth and he shut his eyes. He had more than enough to say to her. But he had to try to shape it right. Had to push on further.

But Fujiko spoke first, her cold words flaring up with sudden, unmasked spite.   
  
“Why didn’t you get a cellphone?”   
  
He opened his eyes, looked around for a moment, wondered if this was some kind of joke he did not understand. He was lost, and his expression showed it.

“A cellphone?”

“Yes!” She leaned back on the stone countertop, her head resting against the wall, evident frustration in her voice. “I told you to get a cellphone so I could send you the wedding photos!”   
  
“I apologize.” And this time, he meant it. “I had assumed you did not care about enough to be upset about it a year later.”

She had only mentioned it once or twice. And never very seriously. He was baffled to find this somehow being a point of contention. He would never,  _ could  _ never have guessed this was a source of anger for her.   
  
“It was the last thing I said to you because I couldn’t talk to you otherwise, because you don’t have a fucking cellphone! Why are you so stubborn!?”   
  
Goemon narrowed his eyes. Stubborn? They were all stubborn. How is this fair, when she was just as stubborn?   
  
“Aughhh nevermind. Forget it.” She huffed and pouted her lips.   
  
Goemon paused, attempting to parse this new information, trying to fit it into the evening. He knew this could not possibly be what had drawn her into the kitchen. But then again, he was no closer to knowing what had.

But she had opened up. She had put her defenses and pride aside. If he could not do the same, he was no man.

He stepped forward, and risked putting a hand on her knee.

“I will get a cellphone.”

She stared him down, and Goemon did his best to hold her gaze. He felt, rather than saw, her hand approaching his. Fingertips slowly resting upon the back of his palm.   
  
Then she rolled her eyes.

“It’s a bit late for that,” she said, sending a sigh of air through gritted teeth.   
  
Goemon heaved a sigh. He was on his way to losing this battle. His voice lacked any of the restraint he had worked so hard to craft. 

“I honestly do not understand. Can you not just tell me... what it is you are so upset about?”   
  
She burst into laughter. “Hahahaha! Goemon you really crack me up.” 

She smiled fondly, but it offered no relief to him. Her laugh felt too harsh and the smile was more of the same obfuscation.   
  
Goemon steeled himself. One last attack. Words had not worked. And so.

He lifted himself up onto the counter next to her. This forced her to scoot to make room in the small space. Their sides leaned together. Goemon tried to hold back embarrassment. This was not impropriety. This was two friends. He stayed in place, pressed close. Just one man trying to assist an old friend.   
  
“I insist that you try.” Goemon attempted to speak commandingly. This felt wrong. But Fujiko had different rules. “I will not take no for an answer.”

She stared back at him. He wasn’t sure how much more eye contact he could take. But a giggle bubbled up out of her. Then another.   
  
“Okay, tough guy.”

Her posture slouched. She pulled a knee up. Goemon had not realized he had been holding his breath, but he let it out.

This was what Fujiko looked like when she let her defenses down. Her shoulders rolled forward, and her buttons didn’t strain so heavily against her chest. As she settled, her gut pushed out a little. No, it wasn’t pushed out, but it was no longer held sucked in.

The careful, walking mannequin illusion was discarded, and a living person was sitting next to him.

“It’s just... Jigen.”   
  
“I can concede he is often not very civil when he speaks to you, but I felt he was rather well behaved this evening.”

Goemon did not like to make too many excuses for Lupin or for Jigen. But tonight Jigen had performed admirably, hadn’t he?   
  
“That’s what’s driving me crazy. He hasn’t done anything tonight!” She blew a stray lock out of her face, and gestured, bewildered. “I was prepared for him to make a huge scene! I’ve been waiting for it since the proposal! I was ready for anything, even for him to pull out his little overcompensator and unload six rounds right at me! But he’s...he’s so much more subtle than that! It’s been months since he and Lupin spoke, but even now they have this thing! It makes me feel like they’re speaking in code!”

  
Goemon gave a slow nod, his deep acknowledgement that he empathized. “I understand. I feel that way often around them. They have jokes I do not understand because I was not there.”   
  


She shook her head, but did not seem to be disagreeing with him.

  
“Maybe I just can’t do it.”

Goemon watched her. “Do...what?”

She laughed. Then hopped off the counter, squeezing his hand as she pulled away. Her soft fingers made him shiver as they slipped by. She turned to face him, took both his hands in front of him, held them in her warm palms and smiled again. Her perfect proportions were back.   
  
“You always make me remember why I lie, and it’s so cute how much you don’t. If it was you, I wonder if I would be able to trust you,” she looked at him fondly. Too intensely. He dropped his eyes to his knees, face flushed.   
  
“If it was me?”

What exactly did she mean...?   
  
She pulled out a drawer next to his legs and removed a pen. Cupping his wrist in her hand, she wrote a phone number on it.

“Here. Now you better put it in your contacts when you get it.”   
  
Goemon waited, dutiful as a stone as she wrote. When she seemed to be taking too long, he looked down, to see that she’d snaked a trail of loopy doodles up his arm. He roughly pulled his hand away, balling it into a fist.    
  
“Fujiko, please. I am trying to talk to you about this.”   
  
“Well I don’t want to talk about it,” she stuck out her tongue at him, playful.   
  
“You are very annoying,” he said, unsure if he meant it.   
  
“So what? Are you going to cut me half like you do to anything else that annoys you?”

She reached for Zantetsuken, and he yanked it closer to himself to be sure she could not snatch it.   
  
“No. I will simply ignore you.”

  
“I’m sure I’ll notice a big difference then,” she sounded bitter as she said it.

He looked down at her, eyes going from the woman to the number on his wrist. And he felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

The year-long silence between them. It was just as much his fault as hers. Perhaps moreso.

He turned his face and softened his gaze on her, “Fujiko...”   
  
“Don’t.” She said this with her firm, bold tone, bright as if joking, but her voice quivered as if she was on the verge of tears. “Honestly, I want to have some dignity left at the end of this, okay?”   
  
He slid off the countertop and pulled her into an embrace without thinking. Things would be different, now. He could fix this. They wouldn’t-

She pulled herself free from his arms and turned away, busying herself with something inside the refrigerator.   
  
“It’s getting late isn’t it?” Goemon could not ascertain anything in her voice. “Maybe you all should go home.”

He had overstepped. Jigen’s insults hadn’t ruined things, Zenigata hadn’t tried to arrest Lupin, even Lupin hadn’t done anything wild or dangerous.

Goemon had overstepped. He was the one who’d ruined the night.  
  
He nodded, not that she could hear the gesture, but it felt wrong to make any sound. He slipped quietly out of the kitchen and headed back for the bar, where Zenigata had rejoined Lupin and Jigen. He paid no mind to whatever they were talking about. He was intent on fulfilling Fujiko’s request.  
  
“Jigen, Zenigata. It’s getting quite late. Perhaps we should not overstay our welcome.”  
  
Lupin was quick to try to stop him, as he expected. “Oh come on Goemon! It’s not even midnight, it’s no big deal.”  
  
Goemon knew it was fruitless to try to reason with Lupin, so he gave a meaningful stare to Jigen.

Their eyes met.   
  
Jigen stood up and smirked at Lupin. “It’s late for those of us who’ve still got jobs to do. Unlike you, slacker.”   
  
Lupin almost stood up, a complaint on his lips, ready to push things further, to get his way, as he always did.

Then let himself sink back down into his chair.  
  
“Yeah. It was nice to see you all. I’ll tell Fujiko you said goodbye.” He put on his best smile, but it wasn’t in his voice.  
  
Goemon could not lift Zenigata, but pushed his willpower forward. One could control an opponent’s movements with the right body language, and a drunken man was not very hard to anticipate. He maneuvered Zenigata to the hallway and down the stairs with little protest. Lupin followed behind them, cracking his usual jokes. The ghost of the party they should have been having. 

  
Jigen had a hand on the crook of Zenigata’s arm, leading him carefully to the door. He turned back to give Lupin a tidy wave goodbye. 

“We’ll get Pops to bed with something for his hangover. Don’t worry about it. Bye, Lupin!”  
  
“Give my regards to Fujiko.” Goemon did his best to sound polite. He wished she would see them off. He frowned at the thought of how long it might be until he saw her again. Saw any of them again.  
  
“Will do.” Lupin responded.

It was one thing to hear Lupin be willfully sullen. Sullen with, what Goemon had learned, was comedic self-awareness. This was genuine, and it stung.  
  
Zenigata, indignant and ignorant to the world around him, tried to push Jigen off. “I can do that myself. I’ve done it lots of times.”  
  
As the trio stepped out, the air outside was chilly. It blew through Goemon’s open sleeves and gave him goosebumps. The warmth of the party was gone.

Goemon shut the door firmly behind him.  
  
“You know, that doesn’t make you sound good, that you’re good at going home drunk,” Jigen laughed in Zenigata’s face. Then seemed to reflect upon it, conceding, “I mean, same here. But. Maybe don’t brag about that.”  
  
They walked together, each step along the street helped Goemon remember to ground himself.

Temporary.

All things are temporary.

He gritted his teeth. He was always excellent at reminding himself of this. Usually it made this painful feeling of nostalgia fly away.   
  


But it did not.   
  


They stopped on the corner, and Jigen took out a cigarette. He lit it, and Goemon could feel the small, burst of heat of his lighter. It went out, and Jigen exhaled. A breeze snatched up the aroma before it could reach Goemon. Goemon felt his heart thud, and want nearly overtook him, his chest a raw, bitter moan for the taste of tobacco and intimacy. 

But he steeled himself. Indulgence had been his failing tonight, not his virtue. It had made him and those around him vulnerable. He would need to spend the next month training, if he wanted to make up for it.

  
“Is he okay?” Zenigata sounded unsure of himself.  
  
“You’re the detective.” Jigen quipped for the both of them. “Should be able to investigate that yourself.”

One would think Zenigata would know by now that Goemon and Jigen would never break Lupin’s trust. They both had the scars to prove it.  
  
Zenigata should have expected that response, but still sounded annoyed. “I have my own theories! I just wanted to hear testimony from his best friends. What do you think?”  
  
Jigen blew a heavy plume of smoke through his mouth and nostrils. “It’s none of your damn business what I think.”  
  
They were only talking about Lupin. He wondered if they had even considered the other person they had come to see. 

“I think that Lupin isn’t the only one to worry about here.”  
  
Two liquor-soaked men barked out a suspiciously defensive:

“I’m fine!”

Goemon frowned, disappointed. “I see.” 

Selfish. The pair of them.  
  
“Goodnight,” Goemon said with added curtness.

He would rather not stay and scold either of them about it. He was ready to spend some time alone with his thoughts. He left them to deal with their own.

It was unfair to Fujiko. It really was. It made him unhappy to think how invisible it must make her feel that neither of them had considered her feelings in the matter. It was perhaps not surprising. Fujiko’s maze of social intentions was so difficult, Goemon could barely last five minutes inside. Zenigata seemed like he could forcefully barrel his way through anything. But he would not do it for Fujiko. And perhaps Jigen could disarm her defenses, but he rarely had a reason to.

Fujiko deliberately pushed everyone away, then hid the fact that she had feelings at all as best she could. She had a hand in it, too.

But still. He wished that the others could care the way he did.   
  
Moving at a steady paced walk, he found his way to the park they had passed on the way there. He put his back against a tree that was decently sized and sunk to the ground, crossed his legs and gripped Zantetusken close in his lap. He worried about Fujiko. As insincere as she could be, he knew deep down she was quite a sensitive person.   
  
He looked at the pen marks on his hand. It was no difficulty to commit that number to memory. But using it would be a much greater challenge.

Tomorrow he will buy a cellular phone. Fujiko had asked for only one thing. Told Goemon that he was missed. He was committed to doing the same. Goemon was imperfect, and full of worry. But he had a path, and tomorrow, he would follow it.   
  


He exhaled his worries into the chill night air. That night, he found meditation easier than it had been in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goemon was a bit challenging to write because he's such a quiet character! I hope people don't mind the liberties I decided to take with him heh
> 
> Special thanks goes to my wonderful wife Alexis' insights, the best sections are entirely thanks to her magic and thanks to my friend Camden for betaing.
> 
> As always, comments really help keep me working on the next chapter, which will be Jigen! Please yell at me to finish this haha


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